The Death of Dr Harleen Quinzel
by Delta 9
Summary: Harleen Quinzel is put under fire for the Joker's escape, 13 days later she claims her own life in the middle of Gotham Square.Why? Difficult to say because all the different accounts can't piece together a broken life. post TDK, pre TDKR
1. Time Of Death

She stopped running. After a fifteen-minute chase Harleen finally stopped running in the middle of Gotham City Square. Now that she was standing still everyone else was able catch up. Clown-masked henchmen came on the scene from the same alley that Harleen had come from, police cruisers, lights flashing created a barrier on the street in front and Batman glided on to a nearby roof top. Both of them poised to intervene. However neither of them did.

The rain continued to pour down in buckets, the goons continued to advance and her supposed rescuers continued to be nothing more then bystanders. Both under the assumption that if Harleen was important enough for the Joker to come out of hiding for the first time since his escape from Arkham asylum, he would take care of her himself.

Her safety, no her life, was forfeit for the mad man she had unleashed.

Even as the henchmen got closer and closer, she did not move. She didn't scream or even cry out. Harleen just raised a gun up to her temple and pulled the trigger.

Her blood hit the air in a crimson mist. The shot reverberated through the square as Harleen fell backward slowly, her body morbidly bounced when it made contact with the pavement.

With their job done for them, the clown-masked henchmen ran off, scattering in different directions. The police restarted the pursuit, dispersing in those same directions. Commissioner Gordon, two other officers and Batman hidden from view were the only ones to stay behind. Even though there was nothing that could be done for Harleen now.

The fact that Harleen could have had a free hand in the Joker's escape from Arkham made her very unpopular in Gotham. The press had been particularly relentless in reminding everyone who was most likely responsible for the constant state of fear the city was in.

There was no possible way that the Joker had escaped from Arkham on his own, he had to have had help, specifically someone on the inside and Harleen was the key suspect as his collaborator. Though her motives weren't entirely clear, Dr. Jeremiah Arkham had gone on record saying that the clown prince and his young psychiatrist had become inexplicably close and Dr. Joan Leland further confirmed this statement by saying that Harleen had been warned more then once about the dangers of getting too comfortable with the Joker. Not that there was much doubt as to what happened. Everyone knew it was probably very easy for the Joker to manipulate inexperienced Dr. Quinzel.

Most of, if not all, Harleen-related articles toed the line of being slander.

News-reporters were now arriving on the scene, much to Gordon's displeasure, beating the paramedics. Gordon grabbed tarp and a roll of yellow police tape out of the trunk of his cruiser. They should have created a perimeter long before now but everyone was frozen from shock and guilt. Wordlessly he passed the tape off to one of the officers still with him, and then went over to Harleen. He hoped they would be able to hold the reporters back. The least they could do was give her some peace in death.

Her eyes were closed and Gordon felt awful about being thankful for that. Next to Jonathan Crane, Harleen had some of the bluest eyes he had ever seen, just the thought of seeing them lifeless made his stomach curl. Not an easy task, having served fifteen years on the force he had seen more then his share of horrible things; corpses mutilated to the point of unrecognizable washing up on the shores of the river, parents breaking down after they identified the bodies of their children, the list goes on and on. None of that had been his fault, this was. In two seconds he could have given the order to save her, which would have taken minutes for his officers to act on. In total it would have taken Gordon anywhere between two and four minutes to save Harleen's life but he hadn't.

The rain made soft pat sounds on the tarp it was starting to let up but was still flushing blood across the square. His eyes glanced up at the rooftops. It may have been a collection of shadows playing on his imagination but he thought he saw the dark knight crouched like a gargoyle. If only Gordon could talk to him. Batman would most likely have answers to what drives people to such extreme measures, maybe he could make heads or tails of why Harleen chose to put a gun to her head because Gordon did not understand why at all.

Officer Berg was now standing next him. Gordon saw the young man look down at the tarp before quickly averting his eyes. It was time to make this official.

Despite the shock he was still in, Gordon found his voice.

"Time of death eleven thirty-eight." 


	2. A Hand In Murder

_Approximately 2 minutes after T.O.D_

_

* * *

_

There was apprehension. There was sorrow. And some may other emotions ensnared in the square, no one could accurately describe it but every soul who was there felt it hanging in the damp night air.

So many people lingered around the boundaries of the police tape, all strangers to the late Harleen Quinzel, although she did not seem like a stranger to them. Everyone in the city knew her name. Everyone had watched her plight over the coarse of the last two weeks; some people pitied what they saw while most others only had strong hate for the disgraced psychiatrist and tonight a handful of citizens had watched her die. But no one really knew her.

The reporters were tame; incredibly tame for Gotham reporters and peculiar given whom all had been involved. They moved about with none of their original aggressiveness and little more energy then the rubberneckers only because they had to. Someone had to make public what had taken place in Gotham City Square tonight. It was unlikely that Commissioner Gordon would give a statement however all the reporters waited for the chance to ask anyway. Finding a witness to give a recount was looking to be just about as hopeless, GCN's Summer Gleeson came the closest but the woman choked up as soon as she tried to say Harleen's name and Summer was forced to stop the interview. No other witnesses volunteered.

"…Her life came to a sudden tragic end and the only thing that anyone can say now is why?" Summer concluded, turning things to Mike Engel in the newsroom.

The last shot on scene, of Dr. Harleen Quinzel, was the ambulance taking her body away. It was goes without saying that there was no need for the siren and lights.

* * *

Like Gordon, Batman stayed until the bitter end, until the ambulance dismounted the curb and rounded the corner. Because like Gordon, he too felt that her death was his fault.

It was not his failure to act that was ripping his conscience apart, but the reason behind his apathy. He had done what he vowed he would never do. Batman had let his personal feelings get in the way.

It had taken immeasurable restraint not to let the Joker fall to his death that night in the Pruitt building. A decision he never regretted, even though it would have done the world an enormous favor, letting the Joker die would unfortunately mean letting him win and if the Joker won, everything that Batman stood for meant nothing, everything he had done would mean nothing and worst of all Rachel would have died for nothing.

No matter how hard he tried to restrain his feelings this time, he couldn't help but feel considerable resentment toward the person that may have put her murderer back on the streets.

The tumbler's growl registered at the back of his mind, making him realize that he was driving and what was more he was on the route for home. He turned off at the last corner, the night was too young for him to retire. Batman had an obligation to Gotham, there would be someone out there in need of help. Someone he could save. With that his thoughts went back to Harleen, replaying her final moments over and over again, especially the second right before she pulled the trigger, the second he knew what she was preparing to do but it was already too late. Although Batman had witnessed this from the rooftop, his memory played it as if he had been right beside her. His imagination filling in the small details he had missed: like the way the rain no doubt had drenched her, masking possible tears on her cheeks, the plausible shine of the muzzle of the gun, the way her eyes might have looked up or looked straight ahead and the shuddering way she could have drawn out her last breathe.

With his mind fixed on Harleen, he found himself unable to even conceive the notion of fighting crime. Disheartened did not even begin to cover it.

Batman needed to put her ghost to rest and so he broke in to the morgue.

The whole room was non-descript stainless steel, as far as he could tell. There were no windows of coarse, and the only light on provided an inadequate amount leaving the perimeter of the room in the dark, not to mention its dullness only bounced weakly off the walls giving the whole room a glowing blue tone. The drawers were arranged in columns, three high and four wide. One of the drawers was neglectfully open a couple of inches. _Gotham's most recent_ Batman thought. He opened it all the way and pulled out the slab, it rolled out with a soft swosh.

Harleen didn't look peaceful; her death had been too violent and brutal to allow that.

The white sheet she lay under held more color then her skin. The skin that wasn't flecked with dried blood or marred with bruises that is. Disturbingly not all of the bruises were recent, Batman observed, some of them were old.

"_These civilized people. They'll eat each other,"_ a nasal voice said inside his head.

The Joker had planned this, Batman realized.

All of the events tonight had started with 9/11 call. A frightened waiter told the dispatcher that the Joker was terrorizing Harleen in Killarney's pub. By the time he and police units arrived both the Joker and Harleen were gone. Around ten minutes later Harleen reemerged being chased by the Joker's henchmen.

But now Batman realized she hadn't escaped, no one could twist out of his grasp. The Joker had let her go.

It would have been too simple and easy to kill her in the pub. It would have been merciful too.

The Joker knew the police would use her as bait the second he showed his scarred face. Then all he had to do was back Harleen into a corner.

This wasn't a suicide. This was a homicide. Harleen may have pulled the trigger herself but her hand on it was forced.

Frustration bordering on rage began to build up inside of him.

Batman could have prevented this.

He knew Harleen was in trouble as she laid trembling and crying in a hospital bed, after being found unconscious in alley with stab wounds only five days ago. But he had no sympathy for her then.

Batman had come here hoping to get some sort of closure but all he had now was more guilt.

It may be taking this a bit far to blame only himself. But he was supposed to protect people, he was supposed to be more then a man, be above petty feelings. But tonight he hadn't been.

Batman slammed his fist into the wall. The sound filled the room with noise that would only fall on the ears of the dead.

* * *

Authors Note

First off Thank You for reading. I didn't leave a note last time because I was dead set on the last words being time of death,which is what T.O.D stands for, (you probably knew that but I am absolutely horrible with abbreviations). That will be appearing at the start of all chapters from now on because the story will go back in time.

Second. I am sad/proud to say that none of the characters mentioned belong to me. Since this is about Harley and set in the Nolanverse, I going to try my best to keep all the names from the 2 Batman movies and Batman: the animated series because that is where Harley Quinn first came into being, (In 1992, she is pretty young compared to the other rogues). So the role call is

Batman, Joker, Commissioner Gordon, Jonathan Crane/ Scarecrow- Appearances in both, Major Characters so we all know who they are.

Dr. Joan Leland, Summer Gleeson- Batman: the animated series, If you haven't seen any of the animated series, do because it is awesome no matter how old you are and just picture Summer as someone you would like to punch in the face.

Mike Engel, Serg. Berg- The Dark Knight.

Third and Last- Thank you for reading again, sorry this took so long and I got some polls on my page you could take, ya know if you want.


	3. Her Last Will and Testimony

_15 minutes after T.O.D_

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* * *

_

Jim Gordon went to M.C.U for old time sake. As commissioner, his main office was now at city hall; while it was nicer he preferred major crimes.

Everyone here knew him. Within three footsteps through the door they knew he was taking this hard and Jim was greeted with sympathetic smiles and pats on the shoulder.

He went in to his old office, knocking first since it now belonged to the new head of major crimes, Gerard Stephens whom Jim had appointed personally.

"This isn't your fault, Jim," said Lieutenant Stephens, seeing the grave expression on his face. "No one knew she had a gun," Exactly no one knew and that was the problem. No one knew what she had gone through to push her to do this. There was more to this story.

"Have you found any family," he asked coarsely.

If Harleen did have any family in Gotham, they probably already knew. The media had toed every single line when it came to Harleen and the announcement of her death had been what finally crossed it; they did not wait for any next of kin to be notified. It could mean a lawsuit for the offender's stations and they would deserve it and more. Jim could not imagine what it would be like to find out that a loved one had died for the first time by simply turning on the news.

Gerard shook his head.

"All that's come up is a deceased brother. We don't know where she was from so the database search will be extensive, as you know that means it could take days before we find anyone."

That's right. In his grief, Jim had forgotten one key point that had first come up when Harleen was assigned to the Joker's case. She was not from Gotham. And ironically that was a good thing at the time because it meant that she would be willing to take him on as a patient and more importantly there was a chance that she could perform an unbiased psychiatric evaluation. However after the Joker's escape, Harleen not being from Gotham was one of the factors that made her the key suspect in the investigation and made it easy for people to persecute her.

"Do we know if she was living anyone?" asked Jim.

"I don't think so. Murphy might know. He was one the heads in this case."

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. It was not as if he didn't like Detective Murphy. He was a good honorable cop but he had a rather aggressive demeanor. Which was fine when it came to criminals but not for someone who could have been innocent. Murphy would have been way too rough with Harleen.

"You should go home Jim." Gerard told him with a concerned tone.

"What was her address?" asked Jim. _We know that right? _He thought almost bitterly. While he could not do anything for Harleen anymore, he could take care of those she had left behind. In a way he felt obligated to do so.

" Bayside apartments, number 415." Gerard grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and put it on. "If you are going to go over there, I should come too."

* * *

In the hallway just outside Harleen's door, neighbor's had already begun to leave flowers. The bouquets left outside were a hint that no one was home. Jim knocked anyway, careful not to step on some carnations as he did so. No one answered.

The door was unlocked and swung open silently when he tried to open it and despite a small protest from Gerard, Jim went inside. Even though it was dark, Jim could tell it was a standard apartment, one bed, and one bath. Another hint Harleen had lived alone. Gerard came in after him and followed his example of poking around. Perhaps they could find something like an address book that would help them find her family sooner.

Two keys along side a piece of paper sat on the kitchen table, Jim brushed this off at first before realizing that the piece of paper was a letter.

_I know it is going to look guilty of me to leave Gotham but everyone has already convicted me anyway so staying here is not going to do me a damn bit of good. So when I walk out the door tonight it will be for the last time. Everything I have left behind is free for the taking, although I am going to ask that it be donated to women's shelter. Once again I had nothing to do with the Joker's escape from Arkham however he has asked me to do something, if I had refused he would have killed me right then and there but I can't do what he wants and there is no one who can or will protect me from the Joker. I have to leave or at least try too. I don't know how close he is watching me but I know that if he thinks I am going to run like any predator he will chase me down. I have lost everything because him and I am not going to let the Joker take the one thing I have left. I refuse to die at his hands. _

_Sincerely_

_Harleen Quinzel. _

A chill ran through him when he finished her letter and realized why she had left it behind; Harleen knew she faced death when she walked out her door tonight. The choice to take her own life was not a split second decision, she had been prepared to do so before she had even got to the square. Because her life was the only thing that she had left and Harleen was not going to let anyone take that from her.

* * *

AN: Thank you for reading.

A special thank you to my subscribers; everytime I get a email notification that someone has subscribed because they want to be kept up to date on the story it makes me undescribely happy and another special thank you to those who favourited this story even though it only had two chapters before now, you too make me very happy.

I am not big fan of how I wrote the letter and may rewrite it later, if I do I will mention it.

Gerard Stephens was in The Dark Knight, he was the cop that tried to strangle the Joker in the interrogation room. Detective Murphy was also in TDK, he was the one who said "you're a cop killer, you are lucky to be feeling anything below the neck." to the human bomb. I had to do a little research to learn those names.

In the next chapter I will be taking it back to the day right after the Joker's escape.

Question, comments, concerns?


	4. Understanding

_13 days Before T.O.D_

_

* * *

_

Considering how little sleep she had gotten, getting out of bed should have been downright painful, however for the first time, on a Monday morning no less, staying in bed was the painful part.

Harleen turned on the news as soon as she got up and perched herself on the edge of the coffee table, completely glued to it as if the closer and more attentative she was would make the stories go by quicker. If the Joker had done anything in his first few hours of freedom it would have the first story. Given the short amount of time that had passed since his escape if he had blown up a building, a reporter could report live from the scene with the flames behind them. So when twenty minutes passed and there was nothing about the Joker, except that he had escaped. Harleen knew he hadn't done anything yet.

It made her start to wonder what her escaped patient was doing with his newfound freedom. Probably sleeping at least that's what she'd be doing in his place. Then who knows, maybe go get an egg mcmuffin or something else equally as innocent. A tiny part of Harleen was happy for him; it was easy to see the Joker did not like being cooped up and the pent up frustration this caused was the reason for the completely nasty moods he was sometimes in during their sessions. Harleen had made numerous visits to Dr. Arkham's office to see if she could get him some small liberties, arguing that she would make better progress with the Joker if he weren't lashing out at her. Dr. Arkham never agreed; the progress she had made with him was probably good enough. When the Joker wasn't in a bad mood, the two of them got along quite well.

After the third or fourth visit Harleen knew she was wasting her time while that never stopped her, sometimes she thought it would have been more polite of Dr. Arkham to kick her out rather then pretend he was listening to her concerns. And now it turns out she didn't need to fight the Joker's battles. He had solved the problem on his own.

If he did get re-admitted to the asylum, Harleen was definitely going to ask him how he had spent his first morning. A small smile was born from the thoughts of what he might tell her.

It faded quickly because a larger part of Harleen was worried sick. For someone who was restrained and or drugged for a good portion of his time, the Joker acquired a surprising amount of injuries.

Most of it was from abuse, cowardly abuse, from the orderlies. Harleen did take in to account that the Joker was provoking them; she never hit him but there were several times where she wanted to. The abuse was another reason for Harleen spent time in Dr. Arkham's office. Although Dr. Arkham did not appreciate her critique of his staff choices or her advice to hire orderlies who were better trained to deal with the mentally ill, these complaints were serious enough for him to have to listen to her. Sadly not much was ever done.

While the orderly abuse pissed her off to no end, it did not disturb her as much as the few injuries that seemed to be self inflicted. Which was strange, Matthew, one of her first ever patients was a self mutilator way worse then the Joker but eventually, no matter how big the bruise or how many stitches it took to close a wound, Harleen was not phased by it. With Matthew it was understandable; she knew why he was hurting himself and therefore she knew how to help him. Where with the Joker, the reason was unclear, all his past psychiatrists had said it was probably because of his frustration with being held in Arkham, Harleen had thought the same until one of his many stories behind his scars involved him carving them in himself. And if that held any truth at all, the Joker had been a self-mutilator before his incarceration at the asylum.

Harleen got off her coffee table, grabbed her cigarettes out of her purse and climbed out on to the fire escape. The way the cigarette brushed against the corner of her mouth reminded her of one particular night after work.

* * *

A moment's inattention almost cost Harleen the tip of her finger as she cut up a red pepper for her omelette. She should be more cautious, wasn't that just the theme of the day.

Harleen should have backed off when she knew the Joker did not like where the conversation was going or what it was implying about him; that he was a certified psychopath with a unhealthy obsession. But for the first time she had made him uncomfortable and so she forgot the warnings from Joan, forgot what he had done to Dr. Richards, his second last psychiatrist before her, forgot everything that should have been in the back of her mind.

The assault happened fast; the Joker grabbed a handful of her hair and slammed her head into the wall, which not only disoriented her but also knocked her out of her chair. The next thing she knew the Joker was expertly keeping her immobile with a knee in her stomach and a hand at her throat while his other hand was pulling her panic button out of her lab coat's pocket. It was either a lucky guess or he knew where it was. The Joker waved the small device pasted Harleen's eyes mockingly before tossing it out of reach. He shifted his position to straddling her and choked Harleen until she blacked out.

When she came around, the Joker had been moved to solitary where he would spend the next week. Where any abuse would go unchecked because Harleen wouldn't be seeing him the next day.

The knife came close to nicking another finger as her hand shook, she put it down when her vision blurred with tears.

What happened today was as much her fault as it was his. She was not going to excuse the Joker for trying to kill her but Harleen should not have put him in that situation.

Her progress with the Joker was good enough for Dr. Arkham but it was not good enough for her. If she was going to make any real progress, she needed to attain the slightest bit of understanding, she needed something personal but the Joker would not even give up his real name. Harleen hated to think of anything as hopeless but this was coming close.

So today when he started to display genuine discomfort, Harleen was willing to take advantage of it. She hoped he would slip up, give her something that she could use.

That was wrong, not to mention incredibly selfish.

It was one of the most frightening moments of her life; traumatic enough that the very idea of being in the same room with him a week from now scared her however Harleen could not resign as his doctor. Every staff member at Arkham was surprised she didn't. She needed to apologize to him and he needed her to stay. Harleen knew that she was Dr. Arkham's last resort as a psychiatrist for the Joker.

But what good was she doing? Simply not giving up on him was not enough. She still needed…

Harleen picked up the knife.

If she could feel what he felt.

She put the blade in her mouth.

If for one moment his pain was hers.

And…

The knife barely had drawn blood when Harleen stopped. It hurt way more then she thought it would and she had not underestimated the pain going in to it.

She smeared the blood away with her thumb. What was she thinking? How could carving herself be any sort of answer?

Harleen had an inkling of what the Joker went through but it did not give her any other insight.

It was only her heart getting in the way of logical thinking. It had a tendency of doing that when everything else was failing.

* * *

Harleen went back inside. After a small breakfast of toast, she walked out her door.

Unaware that the ground had crumbled underneath her feet or how far she had to fall.

* * *

AN: First off I got a huge shout out to make: Hey Aves, You are AMAZING don't ever change, I mean it, You are and always will be one of my closest friends, our friendship started early in our high school career and made it through to the bittersweet end, that includes your 3 month hiatus and super bitches, if that's not the test of time I don't know what is.

As always thank you for reading, favouriting and subscribing. It means so much to me.

That was an allusion to The Dark Knight (first scar story), when Harleen was empathetically trying to understand the Joker by trying to give herself a Chelsea grin.

Today marks a month till Christmas, could not have picked a better day to announce I am going to write a TDK Christmas special, that will premiere closer to Christmas. (it won't mean a break from this story).

And lastly: there is a relevant poll about Batman 3 on my page, please take it (click Delta 9 at the top of the page)

Next time on: The Death Of Dr. Harleen Quinzel.

" You're complaints about the asylum have made you suspect as the Joker's collaborater" Arkham said softly

"So because I cared about my patient I'm a criminal" Harleen snapped.


	5. Let Go

**Update: **I was reading this over and got to the end and there were some errors I could not live with. I had spent so much time with this chapter I was very tired by the end and just wanted to move on. So I threw in a few things and fixed those errors. Its all near the end in the Joker's part, if you have already read this chapter and don't want to go through it again. And by the way is anyone having problems with their traffic pages? (PM me if you want to answer) mine hasn't worked right since the new year.

Buckle up, this is a long haul.

* * *

_13 days before T.O.D_

_

* * *

_

Dr. Joan Leland intercepted Harleen before she even reached her office and took her straight to Dr. Arkham's. As they hurried down the hallways of the asylum, Harleen tried to get a good look at Joan without it completely gawking at her.

Joan was Creole, her hair was dark brown and she kept it in a short bob. She was tall without wearing heels, which she normally wore anyway. Joan was always well dressed and usually in autumn colors since they went nice with her tan skin. Today her clothes were wrinkled and despite the fast pace she was moving at, she looked worn out.

If Harleen had lost sleep over this, she bet that Jeremiah and Joan had gotten none. They probably hadn't even left the asylum grounds. Although Harleen was worried about the Joker, they were worried about what the escape of such a high profile; extremely dangerous patient would do to the already damaged reputation of Arkham Asylum.

After the Narrows disaster, Jeremiah Arkham came out of retirement and back to his old role as administrator after Jonathan Crane was fired and admitted to the asylum. This was met with some protest since Dr. Arkham had appointed Dr. Crane as his successor. Harleen had hardly thought that was fair; Crane had the wool (or burlap sack) pulled over everyone's eyes and if she were in Arkham's shoes she would have appointed Crane too, he was brilliant after all.

This latest development could get the institution shut down, Harleen realized. She should be as worried as they were. But then all Harleen started worrying about was where would her patients go if the asylum were shut down. Where would any of the patients go? Some of them would go to other mental institutions but their criminal patients could get transferred to Blackgate Penitentiary. That thought made her heart stop for a moment.

_Stop worrying about things that haven't happened yet. _Harleen scolded herself. _Life has a funny way of working itself out. _

Dr. Jeremiah Arkham entered his office. She didn't know how old he was but Jeremiah was probably one of those people who wasn't as old as he looked and the recent events were not doing him any favors. Arkham Asylum had been in the Arkham family for generations so he probably had early retirement before he got pulled back in to the game. His gray hair was receding but one could tell that a few years prior with more hair and less wrinkles, he must have been a silver fox. Much like Joan, his usual professional neatness only went as far as his shirt being tucked in and he looked exhausted.

"Did you?" Jeremiah asked Joan.

"No I was waiting for you," answered Joan.

Unease increased in Harleen's already queasy stomach. What were they talking about?

"Have a seat, Dr. Quinzel." Said Jeremiah softly.

Harleen did as she was told, sinking down in to one of the brown leather chairs across from Dr. Arkham's desk. Her eyes fixed on Jeremiah who would not meet her nervous stare.

"I am sorry that there is no delicate or easy way to say this. You are suspended pending-"

"You're suspending me?" gasped Harleen, " On what grounds do you have for this?"

"On the grounds that you aided in the Joker escape" Jeremiah met her eyes for this time. Hers were blue and a mixture of shock, confusion and anxiety, his were a pale green that showed only one emotion clearly; hard disappointment, there was something else behind them. But Harleen had too much on her mind to devote any part of it to riddling out what it was.

" You think I helped him escape" Harleen restated in shock.

"Harleen, what happened during your last session with the Joker?" asked Joan, breaking her silence.

"Why does that matter?" Harleen's last session with him would have been Friday. Only two day ago, that seemed like such long time ago now.

"Because you came out in tears" Joan took a seat in the other chair beside Harleen who glanced at her for a second then started studying the beige carpet.

She had hardly remembered what had happened the last time she had talked to the Joker, what with everything being thrown at her right now, until Joan brought up that her last session had ended with her in tears. Then everything he had said came back to her. Harleen didn't want think about because it would have her breaking down right there and tried her best to push it away.

"We all know how he could be," Joan said gently. "Did he blackmail you?"

"The man was in a padded cell, what could he possible do? I know you think I am inexperienced but give me a little credit," snapped Harleen.

" Dr. Quinzel, please we are just trying to figure this out," Jeremiah said calmly.

"And I am trying to figure out why you think I did this"

Harleen's mind reversed to her first thoughts this morning and she had a sick intuition on the answer before Jeremiah said it out loud.

"Your persistent complaints about the asylum have made you the prime suspect as the Joker's collaborator."

"So because I cared about my patient, I'm a criminal" Harleen interrupted him before he could elaborate. She stood up and placed both hands on the edge of the desk, gripping it tight as if to reroute her anger physically. "I doubt like hell-"

This time Harleen was the one interrupted as Jeremiah's phone began to ring. He picked up the receiver and after a few brief responses excused himself from the room.

Both Harleen and Joan remained completely frozen. The whole scene looked like a still from a suspense movie; what with the golden light pattern allowed through the slates, the generic style of Dr. Arkham's office and Harleen's pose; leaning against the desk, her head almost completely bowed with a very concentrated scowl on her face.

"How could you possibly think that I did this?" asked Harleen. She spoke softly and slowly. So subtle that Joan did not consider it a question at first.

"What Jeremiah said. Plus the order for a completely unnecessary MRI with no sedatives that led to his escape. It was a good plot, Harleen. Whose idea was it?" said Joan bitterly.

Anger and shock move Harleen's head so fast it could have caused whiplash. After that initial response, she let the last half slide and mulled over the facts in the first half.

Of course she had complained about the asylum, how would she be able to sleep at night if she didn't. But Joan was wrong when she said Harleen had _ordered _a MRI. It was Harleen's idea that the Joker get one but a fledging doctor barely out of her internship did not have the authority to move such a high risk security patient off the grounds. Harleen not only had to get approval of Dr. Arkham but also she had to meet with the rather stuffy board. Due in part to her request that Joker would not be put on any heavy sedatives, such as Tryphentol, the sedative, or more like horse tranquilizer they shot him with last time he had to be moved to get a x-ray for some broken fingers. Harleen argued that it would interfere with the results of her proposed test. She was still unsure how she got that to fly given that it was ninety percent bullshit, in all honesty Harleen just could not watch him go through withdrawal for days on end again.

That, among with similar things would be best kept to herself now. Harleen was starting to see that her gentle treatment of the Joker was what had gotten her in to this mess.

"How could you help him?" Joan asked with the same bitter tone as before. "Two people are dead and it is as just as much your fault as his and the same with all the other people he is going to kill."

Before Harleen could defend herself or even come up with a coherent sentence. Jeremiah came back in to his office accompanied by two police officers.

"Dr. Quinzel, could you come with us please?" one of them asked.

Did she have a choice?

Before she was escorted out of the room, she shot a poisonous glare at Joan and Jeremiah, who had reverted back to avoiding eye contact with her.

It was a blatant display of guilt especially for a veteran psychiatrist.

The sun blinded her for a second when they walked out the front doors. When she regained her sight, Harleen saw a large group of people being held back by more police officers. Their tone was angry but their voices were so muddled together Harleen could make out what they were saying. Everything felt unreal at that moment.

"Dr. Quinzel, what do you have to say about the allegations against you?" A female reporter drilled her.

Before she could make at an unintelligible _um, _Harleen was blinded once again. Not by the sun this time but something hard and jagged, something that stung as it ripped skin.

The police officers with her basically then grabbed Harleen and before she knew it she was looking through mesh in the backseat of a cruiser. Harleen put some pressure on her throbbing head, feeling stickiness beneath her fingers. It was disturbingly close to her eye. If her reflexes had not kicked in and her turn away, Harleen could have lost it.

So the asylum weren't the only ones blaming her, everyone was and somehow she was the last to know.

* * *

"Someone has thrown a rock or something at Dr. Quinzel…"

_A rock or something, yeah nice investigative journalism skills there lady_ thought the Joker.

April or Winter or whatever her climatic name was still blithering on about Harley.

Did they think he was not capable of breaking out on his own? That he needed to manipulate a pretty little naïve doctor to do so.

To be fair that sounded like something he would do and the option would still be on the table if a perfect opportunity had not presented itself last night.

But then no one except a select few knew how he had escaped. A simple matter of killing the two orderlies who had escorted him down to the garage and from there hotwiring a van.

Simple, maybe. Opportunistic, yes. That was how you had to play things sometimes.

And no one was going to find out this morning as the newscast shifted to the weather report.

While it was funny how people never failed to devour each other. The Joker wasn't keen on sharing the spotlight.

All this media attention was nominating Harley to get her throat slit.

The Joker stopped pacing around the sad dusty living room.

He had the chance to kill her once but he didn't take it…

* * *

Her eyes rolled back around the same time she stopped futilely clawing at any part of him she could. It wouldn't be long before Dr. Harley went from being a life form, an annoying one might he add, to a inanimate object.

"Things go downhill fast," the Joker told her. She was silent.

Harley, or as she preferred Harleen (he didn't), was all blonde hair and big blue eyes, her complexion was cool but her skin was warm to the touch. She never wore a lot of makeup; either because of the professional image she mimicking or she knew didn't need to. The Joker had a hard time admitting this to himself but she was an attractive woman and she probably knew it too.

She may not think this right now but Harley was lucky. Lucky that he wasn't a sex offender

But then again…

.

He took one of his hands off of her throat and bit the inside of his cheek, his incisors catching on the raised portions of his scars.

The Joker didn't fit in to any psychological category or any category for that matter.

She, like every other shrink was having a hard time comprehending that.

Maybe Harley needed to learn that the good old fashion hard way.

_Absolutely not! _His mind finally kicked in while he was sliding a hand up her thigh.

There was a reason the Joker was not a sex offender. Sex offenders tended to be sex offenders because inside they were pathetic needy people. He was disgusted that he had even considered going that low and even more disgusted on how close he had let himself get.

It was the asylums fault. They had completely shut down his brain with drugs and boredom, leaving only the most primitive parts of it running. The sooner he got out of here the better.

The small beat of her pulse hit against the hand he still had on her neck.

_Just kill her. _

He placed his other hand back on her neck but didn't apply any pressure.

If he could have, the Joker would have killed Dr. Richards. Unfortunately that man was jumpy and had respect for the person he was dealing with. Harley did not, the Joker tried to bring back the anger he had moments ago. But he still could not tighten his grip.

Their run was over. Harley was not going to be his doctor after this; she was not going to be of any use to him in the future. Why keep her around?

Killing her would remind everybody what he was capable of. That no matter how safe they tried to make themselves, he could always get to them.

Still the Joker didn't want to do it. He could not explain why and could not be anymore mad at himself. First he put his hand up her skirt and now he was letting the perfect opportunity go. Harleen had been defenceless since he had choked the scream out of her. The Joker was having off day to say the least.

He retrieved the discarded panic button from under the table. Harley could not press it so he did it for her then just sat on the table and waited.

It was a ballsy move but it would have been far greater if they had come in to find an inanimate object.

* * *

The Joker began pacing again.

Much to his surprise, Harley did not resign as his psychiatrist. She even apologized to him for what had happened; saying she should not have made him uncomfortable. For the record she did not. But that was another story. One he was not going to get in to. He wasn't going to think about her anymore.

Let the rest of Gotham deal with her.

Maybe someone would shoot her.

_Do what you couldn't. _

_Uncalled for_, he responded.

* * *

Authors Note:

Shout out spotlight: Sugary Snicket, PasDuTout, TyphoidKat.

Thank You for the Reviews. It kept and is still keeping me going. Each one of your reviews gave me feedback on what I had wanted put in to the story: the shock value and Nolanverse setting I was going for in the first chapter. The plot and attention keeping quality after that first chapter. The sympathy I was trying to get for all the characters. Thank you all

The life form vs. inanimate object is for the most part from the Joker blogs on YouTube, if you are a Dark Knight fan, I highly recommend watching them.

**Update: **I was reading this over and got to the end and there were some errors I could not live with. I had spent so much time with this chapter I was very tired by the end. So I threw in a few things and fixed those errors

As always Thank you for reading and go take the poll on my page, please.


	6. The Truth Is Relative

_13 day before T.O.D  


* * *

_

Shades of gray and cinderblock in the precinct she was taken to was what white and tile was in Arkham asylum; cheap, poor attempts of decorating a room. Harleen tried not to focus on the walls too much. But there was not much else to look at, not even a clock. How long had she been sitting in this growing ever smaller room?

This room was similar to the some of the session rooms in the asylum. No wonder some patients were unnerved by them. Harleen had never liked conducting any of her sessions in those rooms but with some patients there was no getting around it. Unless of course they slammed your head in to the adjacent wall, then Dr. Arkham made some allowances.

Harleen drummed her fingers on the table as a means of distracting herself, she made a complex pattern and tried to repeat it faster and faster.

She had started playing her little game with her eyes closed when she heard the door open. Harleen opened her eyes and hoped the man who had entered had not seen what she had been doing.

The officer who had entered had a medium build, was fairly tall (but then to Harleen everyone was) and sort of looked like Emilio Estevez. She thought trying to quell her anxiety, which had tripled since Officer "Estevez" had come in.

_You've done nothing wrong. _Harleen reminded herself.

"I am Detective Murphy," he said, shaking her hand before he sat down across from her.

Harleen almost started fiddling with her hair when the brief handshake ended, a nervous habit of hers. She caught herself and brushed her bangs behind her ear. Fidgeting was a sign of guilt and Detective Murphy would take note of it.

In the movies the suspect was normally offered a smoke. In reality, although Harleen only had this experience to base it on, the suspect was not. She would have gladly taken one.

"You were questioned at the asylum Sunday night. What were you doing at the asylum in the first place?"

"I was catching up on some work," answered Harleen, she was very aware of the crack in her voice.

She had two other patients beside the Joker, who was a handful to say the very least, ever since Harleen took him on, she had slipped a little bit more behind with every passing week. The good thing about Sunday nights at the asylum was that lights out was earlier and the night crew was not understaffed as they were on Friday or Saturday. So Harleen would be allowed to work quietly in her office and not end up caring for any patients, especially the aforementioned handful.

"You were the one to request a MRI for the Joker, correct?"

Joan's spiel this morning had at least given Harleen a warning as to what was coming.

"Yes. I wanted to see if he had sustained any brain damage specifically in the frontal and temporal lobes of his brain."

" Do you know how many psychiatrists the Joker had before you?" asked det. Murphy flatly.

The question came out of nowhere. Harleen use to know the answer but the pressure she felt kept her from grasping it now. She took a few moments to recall the names she so often saw in the Joker's file. It would have been easier to do if she wasn't fighting to keep her hands in her lap.

"Eight" answered Harleen.

"Close. Twelve" corrected detective Murphy. "Every one of them accomplished doctors and none of them ever wanted to check for brain damage. So why did you?"

His implication that she was inexperienced did not go by unnoticed by Harleen. She was use to that.

"As I am sure you are aware brain damage can result in memory loss. A recent study has theorized that brain damage can also result in the creation of false memories in order to fill in the blanks where the original memories were. During the three months that the Joker was my patient I must have heard forty stories about how he came to have his infamous set of scars and when he told them it was almost like talking to a trauma victim." Explained Harleen slowly. "Obviously all these stories could not be true but he reacted and retold almost every one as if they all were."

Detective Murphy sat silently with blank expression. So Harleen went on.

"No doubt acquiring those scars was a traumatic experience for him and a majority of the time the stories involved a violent assault where he could have obtained brain damage, which would perhaps be the reason that's as far as he can or likes to remember."

Harleen took a breath. She had the need to say the rest of what she had told the board of director's weeks ago.

"Furthermore the scars on their own are important because the Joker would only ever talk about his past to talk about how he got them, it signified how big of a factor these scars play in his psychosis. However they cannot be the only factor. I believe the Joker was suffering from a personality disorder or had a predisposition for schizophrenia before them and to add brain damage on top of a mental illness would make mess of the mind and that could be why he has multiple sets of fake memories as oppose to one set. "

"If he did have brain damage, what would that mean to his diagnosis? It seems irrelevant to me."

"If he did have brain damage, it would just be something we would take in to consideration. But the research on the effects of brain damage in the mentally ill that could done on him would be immensely valuable to the whole psychology field."

Harleen remembered the feeling of excitement she got when she had first realized this. It was a little sickening in a way. The Arkham board had liked this prospect too, Harleen knew they would and had counted on it to be her selling point.

"If not, then we could most likely diagnosis the Joker with dissociative amnesia which was the forerunner theory for his unique memory problems before I discovered this study"

Harleen did not cross her arms and lean back in her chair even though she wanted to.

_Checkmate bitch. _

"My detailed report is in the Joker's file. I am sure you could get it from the asylum." She finished.

"We would have it already, Dr. Quinzel. If it wasn't missing." Said Detective Murphy accusingly. "Any idea where it might be?"

Harleen wasn't a slob but she wasn't exactly a neat freak either and her office had been neglected the last couple of weeks. At this time it was at the point where she was about to break down and clean it.

She knew how the missing file would make her look; guilty. Like there was something she was hiding. Harleen would be more then happy to go to the asylum and see if she could find the file for them. Could she go the grounds with a suspension?

"The last place I saw it was on my desk in my office." Harleen answered with the only thing she could think of. Her tone wasn't as strong as it had been a minute ago, but she didn't break eye contact with Detective Murphy. The confidence she had attained by talking about her work may have shaken now but it was still there.

_You've done nothing wrong. _Harleen reaffirmed herself.

"Alright, moving on. It was also reported to us that you didn't want the Joker to be placed on any sedatives during the MRI. Care to fill me in as to why?"

"They're twisting my words." Harleen had been forewarned about this too. "I never said any sedatives at all. I only said no Tryphentol."

"Why only that particular drug then?"

"Because it is a very potent sedative that would likely suppress and alter the neurochemistry in his brain which would interfere with the MRI results. Then the whole thing really would be irrelevant." Harleen snipped off the "t" quite hard.

"I think there is more to then that" leered Detective Murphy.

Was he really expecting her to cave if she really did have ulterior motives?

_Alright time to come clean. _She thought angrily. Harleen was about a second and a nerve away from jumping to her feet as she did in Arkham's office this morning.

"Even if Tryphentol would not have posed an interference issue. I still would have done everything in my power to ensure not even one milligram ended up in the Joker's veins. Because regardless of what he did before his incarceration, I was assigned to be his doctor and that means he was entrusted to my care. So if I believe that there is something causing him any harm, I am obligated in every sense to do something about it."

Detective Murphy eyed her up before getting to his feet and heading to the door.

"I advise you drop the holier then thou act, sweetheart."

The door clicked shut behind. Echoing her mind ten times louder.

As her throat closed up, Harleen closed her eyes to hold back tears.

When truth was a relative term, it didn't matter what she said.

* * *

The underground parkade was darker then outside. Which was for the better since it was almost too early to start patrolling.

Batman had received a message from Commissioner Gordon saying that Harleen Quinzel was just released from police custody.

There was no evidence to convict her. But that was the beauty of this whole plan; it was all legitimately executed. The cover story was well founded in psychological excuses.

It was a given that the Joker would have manipulated her in some way or another; blackmail, sob stories or even seduction.

He wanted to know how much of this scheme had been Harleen's idea. She may look innocent but Bruce knew better then most how deceiving looks could be.

Bruce had personally met Harleen when she had broken the previous record of who had been the Joker's psychiatrist the longest. The two had even gone out to dinner. What stood out to him now were her eyes. Not the color, what was in them; Determination, yet it was a little twisted somehow.

The garage door hummed, as it pulled open at the other end of the parkade. An emerald car drove in and parked near Batman's hiding spot. Only after Harleen stepped out of it did he emerge from the shadows.

Startled Harleen dropped her keys. The silver caught the only light as it danced toward the ground causing it to gleam in the dingy setting. The same way pearls gleamed in a dark alley behind an opera house.

Batman drew great motivation from that. The Joker needed to be found and locked away before he could maim, kill and rip apart families. Hopefully this woman, accomplice or not, could help them find him.

Harleen retrieved her keys quickly, then pressed herself against a 70's Lincoln continental.

"You aren't getting a different story because you think you're above the law," stated Harleen. She had singled out one key on her key chain and held it poised in her hand like knife.

_Smart girl. _He thought. Keys could always be used a last resort self-defense weapon. Not like there would be a need for that. He wasn't going use any physical intimidation.

"I've only got one story and that's the truth" her voice shook.

"Or maybe you're covering up the fact that you got played" growled Batman.

He let his anger sometimes took control of him especially at times like these but right now he had to keep it in check. If she had helped the Joker, it was probably a mistake, she must not have realized what she was doing. That didn't change that Harleen needed to own up to what she did and help him and the police if she could.

Batman could tell she was scared. Even though she had pressed herself away from him, her stance looked like she was ready spring right at him. Batman knew then he wasn't going to get anything out of this meeting.

"The Joker is good at playing people. While it may be embarrassing to admit you were a pawn, and make no mistake that's all you were to him. You can't let innocent people die for your pride, Harleen."

She averted her eyes for only a second, however that was all he needed to make his exit.

From the shadows Batman watched as Harleen broke down.

She eventually came to sit on the ground, even though her body seemed to reject the idea at first. She wrapped her arms loosely around herself and her blonde bangs hid her eyes as her head was bent forward, watching her tears collect dirt on the concrete.

The assorted colors of the parked vehicles may have contrasted from the parkade interior. But Harleen, however small she was in the picture, was the focal point.

* * *

Something was wrong.

Glass broke from beyond her bedroom door.

Harleen got out of bed and went out in to the hall. From there she could see flames. Flames crawling along the ground and climbing up the walls.

It cut her off from the fire escape.

Harleen raced over to her front door and tried to open it. It wouldn't budge. She looked for the deadbolt.

But it was gone…

Same with the chain lock near the top.

Déjà vu.

Harleen was dreaming.

But she didn't feel any relief as the fire came closer and closer.

_Wake up_.

In a sharp heartbeat Harleen came out of her troubled sleep.

Right back into her real nightmare.

* * *

Author's Note:

Shout-Out Spotlight: SmilinForYa.

I immediately recognized your penname from your awesome short: _Nice To Meet You _ (and also because it's epic name). Thank You for the review, I read it a thousand times and just wow, thank you especially in regards to the Joker, he can be very difficult to write. I was scared to put him in the last chapter but I am so happy I did now. so I am so glad you approve and I can keep your approval in the future.

Thank you for reading.

The false memories concept is something I learned a while ago and changed the plot a little here to include it cause I thought it was neat. I'll thrown up the link (take out the spaces, can't set up real links here)

io9. com / 5704674 / brain-damage-might-actually-create-fake-memories

The thing about keys as self defense is also true.

Below is a look of what is next to come in the next chapter. I will include it when I know what will be in the next chapter. Sometimes I am not sure.

Next time on The Death Of Dr. Harleen Quinzel:

Brain damage! She thought he had brain damage!

Screw staying out of it.

The Joker was going to drag Harley out in to the middle of the street and make an example out of her.


	7. Don't Believe Their Lies

Reminder Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.

And if you are sitting in class, I can't say anything because I don't want to be a hypocrite, so please enjoy

* * *

_12 days before T.O.D_

_

* * *

_

Gingerly Harleen slipped into the bathtub letting her exposed body get use to the heat of the water.

The day had been a hell of a lot quieter then yesterday. But then she hadn't made the mistake of leaving her apartment. Being a hermit was only a band-aid solution, a cheap band-aid solution.

Staying inside had never sat well with Harleen. Even when she was sick she always found an excuse to go out. Not even a full twenty-four hours had passed and she had already begun to feel stir crazy and she had been giving in to her nicotine vice all afternoon. If Harleen was going to keep herself from finishing her cigarette pack today, she needed to relax. Hence the bath.

Her body became disconnected from her mind as the warmth caressed each nerve. Quieting her incessant thoughts to whispers.

The comfort of this warmth could not quiet the sudden pounding at her front door. It wrecked this soothing dissociating effect and the lilac scented bath salt. Snapping her body and mind back together.

Harleen grabbed her silky crimson bathrobe off the towel rack and arranged her hair (which excluding the tips was still dry) in to a messy bun as she made her way to the door.

If this were a porno, which the situation could be humorously paralleled to, Harleen's mind would feel very sorry for Harleen's body.

At her door were three of the boys in blue. (Figuratively speaking, they weren't wearing uniforms, but each had a GCPD vest on) One of whom she recognized as Detective Murphy.

" Ms. Quinzel, I am Lieutenant Stephens, this is Detective Bullock and you already know Detective Murphy. " Lieutenant Stephens showed her his badge and a document. "We have a warrant to search your apartment."

Shock moved Harleen passively backwards as the trio more or less barged in before she got the chance to make herself decent.

"Can I get dressed?" That wasn't to say she wouldn't ask.

"Sure" said Lieutenant Stephens.

"Keep that door open and no one will have to come in with you" called Detective Murphy as Harleen retreated in to her bedroom. She was surprised that the sentence didn't end in sweetheart or darling.

The anger of being so mistrusted when she had not done a thing was strong but it was still over shadowed by the anger that they were invading her home, looking for something that they weren't going to find because it wasn't there.

She could hear them going through her belongings. From the sounds of glass chinking, they or at least one of them was in the kitchen.

What did they even delude themselves in to thinking they were going to find?

If Harleen had been the Joker's accomplice, the last place he would want anything hid would be with her.

Wait, wasn't she just a pawn to him. Harleen remembered her encounter in the parkade bitterly. What would the Joker need from her once he got out of Arkham. She was the last person he would affiliate with.

She slipped on a pair of blue shorts under her robe and a muscle shirt. Changing with the door open didn't bother her. Harleen was a bit too proud of her body to be modest.

"You can wait outside," said Lieutenant Stephens when she emerged from her bedroom.

"Do you need me when this is done?" asked Harleen coolly. Eyes focused only on Lieutenant Stephens and Detective Murphy. She couldn't stand hearing this, let alone watch it.

"No."

From the bowl on an end table, she grabbed both sets of apartment keys. She tossed one of the keys, perhaps a little hard, at Detective Murphy.

"Lock up and slip it under the door when you're done"

Not wanting to be there a second longer. Harleen grabbed her air force ones and tied them up in the stairwell. Purely out of habit, she touched her hip to grab her iPod only to realize that she had left it behind. Harleen would miss having it but she was not going back.

Would the police would go through it and take note of _The Joker and The Thief, All Along The Watch Tower _and _Stuck In the Middle With You _as possible evidence? She wondered.

The press had followed the police the way vultures would follow lions, waiting to pick apart the left over's from a kill.

Without anyone escorting her this time, they were bolder. The female reporter from yesterday grabbed Harleen by the elbow as she pushed her way through them.

Without any escorts, Harleen could be mean.

Using all the commotion of everyone bustling around the tiny doorstep for cover. She whipped toward her instigator and caught her in the face with a left hook.

The woman was lucky it was not her right.

Sure Harleen could get in trouble for that. But at least this time it would be for something she actually did.

The throbbing in her knuckles gave her a sense of pride she had lost.

Harleen took off down the block, pushing herself harder then she usually did jogging.

Her footsteps sounded on the asphalt one beat after another. As her pace increased the beats hit less time apart.

Fresh air enveloped her and pulsed through her.

This was the complete opposite of relaxing. This was what Harleen needed.

She needed to be moving. She needed to see wide-open space unbordered by walls.

Harleen needed to have her heart aching, beating as if it was about to burst.

Blocks later her knee started to protest. She ignored its cries.

_Come on, _a voice inside her screeched, urging her to keep going.

A few blocks further a stitch pained her side. It did little to slow her pace.

Her knee's protest got louder, the stitch spread. Her lungs were struggling to supply high in demand air to the rest of her body.

_Come on! _Her inner voice screamed louder. She was not going to give in to pain.

And she didn't until she reached her limits. Flushed and panting, Harleen stumbled to a stop. Her over worked heart sent a burning tingling sensation all through her. It was a welcome feeling.

The sun had begun its descent. It wasn't a noteworthy sunset yet and it was not going to get the chance to be one.

Harleen leaned against a street lamp and watched transfixed as looming clouds started to encroach upon the sun. Slowly they rose up, spurring off to encircle it. Then when it was mostly surrounded, the clouds moved in and blocked out the sun.

In anxious anticipation she continued to stand there, waiting for it to come back out. To burn through those ugly clouds.

It was a ridiculous thought but she felt as if she was never going to see the sun again.

Harleen never knew hopelessness to be such a heavy feeling.

* * *

By the time she got back to her apartment complex, Harleen was limping and had no choice but to take the elevator.

"Hey Harleen,"

_Of course. _

"Oh...uh...hey Joshua" Harleen stammered. She faked tightening her ponytail to check if she smelled the way her pit stains would suggest.

Joshua Harvey had been a juvenile crush of Harleen's since the day she moved in and he had helped her move her heavy possessions upstairs. Shirtless. His image was not exclusively his good looks but a flawless generous persona.

"This whole thing is pretty messed up huh?" he said softly. Joshua pressed the button to shut the door. He didn't hit number four.

Come to think of it, Harleen had not seen him come in to the elevator.

The warning flag rose too late.

The elevator door shut her in and Joshua planted an arm on either side of her, pinning Harleen in the corner.

"Not nearly as messed up as the person who helped that fucking clown has to be." He snarled.

A pathetic tremble shook her cowering frame. It was an involuntary response.

Harleen reminded herself how she had been prepared to face down the Batman with nothing but a key. She was unarmed now but the Batman was armored then. Joshua was not.

She positioned her knee to strike him where it would really hurt.

Her whole manner changed from frightened to a volatile back off.

"Your friend killed plenty of good people like my brother so if I find out you helped that murdering psychopath escape you better hope I don't ever get you alone again."

Joshua stepped back. The pair stared each other down while the elevator door slide open.

" I'd keep your back to whatever walls you can, 'cause I'm not the only one and no one in this city will help you. " were Joshua's parting words before he left.

Harleen would no longer see the attractive neighbor, who was heavily involved in raising money for numerous charities and would help anyone who needed it.

Whenever she saw him now, she would know all of it was a façade. Underneath it all he was a snake. And that's all Harleen would ever see.

Joshua wasn't the only one. Everyone else she had encountered; Arkham, Leland, Murphy, all the other members of the GPD, that female reporter and Batman, were all snakes.

Snakes hidden in the grass, hissing threats with venom in their fangs.

Harleen stop ruminating over snakes when she walked in to her apartment.

The place was trashed. Everything lay scattered on the floor.

She had expected that. Harleen hadn't expected how much it hurt.

This wasn't just stuff, it was _her _stuff. Possessions that she had set up here because this wasn't just a place.

This was _her _home.

Harleen tiptoed around her belongings, surveying the damage.

They had perverted it, tainted it with their presence.

Once more Harleen sat pathetically on the ground and bawled.

This wasn't her home anymore.

Harleen retrieved her cigarettes out of her purse and went out on to the fire escape as if nothing had changed.

She pulled her knees up to her chest for defense against the cold.

After her smoke she buried her head in her knees and pretended she was out on the pier, made believe she could hear gulls and waves and smell the salty ocean breeze. Pretended that if she looked up she wouldn't see a darkening alleyway, she would see endless blue. Maybe punctured by a sailboat on the horizon.

When it got colder, Harleen stopped playing make believe and went back in to the wreckage.

In the kitchen, a mostly full bottle of wine sat on the counter. Harleen popped the cork and went to fill one of the glasses that were also conveniently on the counter.

_Screw it. _She tilted her head back and took a good swig from the bottle.

The first thing she did was put her scrapbooks and photo albums back in to the box they came out of, complete with a new tape job.

All the while she tried to forget. Forget how her school girl crush had threatened her, how everyone down to a man dressed like a bat was making her in to a criminal and for all she was subject to because of their conviction.

Most of all Harleen tried to forget how alone she was.

* * *

The night wore on and the bottle of wine wore down.

_What if this is my fault, _Harleen thought.

She absolutely hated the asylum sometimes. The apathetic nature of all the staff, the way they would all turn a blind eye to the patient abuse. The Joker was the only one of Harleen's patients that got the orderlies attention but she was sure that he was not the only one. She wished that she could do something and what if she had.

What if subconsciously she wanted to help him escape, so badly that it made her conscious mind come up with the idea to move him without sedatives so he could?

Harleen tried to block these thoughts but they just got worse.

Then what everyone was saying was true. This was her fault.

Henry and Steve, the orderlies who had been killed, were dead because of her.

Harleen wasn't the witch people were making her out to be.

She knew what it was like to lose a loved one.

She would not wish that pain on anyone.

And now other people were going to die because of her. Other people were going to get hurt.

_Don't think like that. _She told herself.

_This is my fault._

_Don't believe their lies. _

The two sides battled inside her mind. Aggravating her.

The sound of breaking glass quieted them.

Harleen was unsure as to why but she had smashed the near empty wine bottle on the coffee table.

The glass fragments caught the moonlight and shone as if they were stars.

Everything was going to be all right.

* * *

Author's note: Thank you for reading, subscribing and faving.

Shout out : SmilinForYa Once again thank you for the awesome review. I am happy that you like my take on Harley, especially since you have knowledge of the comics, it really reassures me. I appreciate reviews, they always give me something to work with and your last one made me think about Bruce and Harleen's randomly mentioned date and that is going to be a one shot sometime soon.

My late apologies if you read chapter 6 when I first put it up and there were no divider lines. I placed them in Word and I thought they would transfer over. Obviously they did not.

Also I am sorry if you like snakes, I was just writing an almost personal experience there.

Lastly I am sorry for lying to you, I said the Joker would be in this chapter. I really thought he was going to be. But guess who **demanded** he get his own chapter.

Detective Bullock was in Batman: the animated series. He will be appearing again later on with line, if you were worried.

Henry and Steve were the names of two orderlies killed from YouTube's Joker Blogs

Joshua Harvey is an OC type character. His brother was Patrick Harvey, a cop that was killed in _The Dark Knight_ (you know that part where they find 2 dead cops and the paper where the Joker put the mayor's obituary in it and Batman cuts a shattered bullet out of the wall)


	8. Absurdity and Other Ridiculous Tales

Warning - this chapter has some sexual themes, not enough to bump up the rating, but I thought I should warn you

Also this chapter is pretty long so make some tea and get comfy.

* * *

_12 days_

_

* * *

_

She walked in late. It was only their third session and already she was slipping. Remarking on that would be expected, so instead:

"Doc, do you wear heels all the time because you're insecure about your stature?" asked the Joker.

"Nope, I wear them all the time because it would be an insult to the universe if I didn't show off my perfect derriere. That's also why I wear jeans on Fridays." Harley answered without missing a beat. Her eyes asked if he had any more questions.

The Joker wondered, not aloud, if that was Harley's plan to deter him from flirting with her in the future. If it was, it backfired.

Though not always necessarily on her…

* * *

The scene was the soft pastel patterned, suspiciously piss smelling asylum infirmary. Yours truly was lying on a stretcher struggling to keep his eyes open despite having been sleeping/blacking out since getting the blow to the head the other night that landed him here.

(Ands that's why, children, you never start with the head)

Seated across from him was the lovely Dr. Harley. She had been here for approximately an hour and a half. Apparently to her, the Joker looked like he needed some company. That was quite the opposite of what he felt. He wasn't in social mood to say the least and his first impulse was to see if he could make her cry. There was no doubt that he could, come to think of it he probably already had but the Joker wanted to see it.

What kept him from driving her off was the fact that Harley had the power to reduce all the medications they put him on, not for pain purposes rather to ensure the Joker didn't kill anyone or be any kind of disruption, just lie there nice and quiet like.

The overall grogginess and the way his brain fluid felt like jell-o definitely put him in the right mindset to kill someone so their concerns were justifiable. It also made keeping his temper with Harley difficult. So the Joker was uncharacteristically silent.

If he kept her around a little longer she'd drop his dosage. Bless her foolish naïve heart.

Something that had been preoccupying his conscious moments was Harley's hair, loosely weaved into two braided pigtails. Normally that look reminded the Joker of show horses, on Harley that look had him picturing her in knee high socks, a short tartan skirt and one less button done up on the blouse she was wearing now. Or better yet just knot the damn thing.

(Looking back that right there was where the trouble started. And for all those wondering at home it had been roughly three and a half weeks since he had assaulted her and his feelings were getting worse. A relationship is never the same after you straddle someone and notice how soft and warm they feel)

"Ah, Harleen." There was no mistaking that Romanian accent. "I was hoping to have a word with you."

With small _clap, _Harley set down the clipboard she was working off of and got up to meet Dr. Strange.

The infirmary was your basic hospital type ward; the stretchers were arranged in to rows backing against the wall and almost all of the stretchers were divided with those hanging divider sheets. So at the Joker's angle to the two doctors it was as if he was watching a play.

You didn't need to know either of these two to see that they clearly disliked each other.

"If this is about Mallory undergoing hypnosis, the answer is still no." stated Harley.

So the Joker wasn't the only one she was protective of.

"I would be happy to have a more formal meeting with you again to go over why," said Harley.

" Perhaps this meeting should include Dr. Arkham."

"If you need a mediator fine but that won't change the fact that it is my decision since I am her doctor."

"Then clearly that's what needs to change"

"Who's going to take her then? You. I am sure we can both agree that you are too busy with your research to devote the time she needs. Another thing we can both agree on is the sad truth that we are understaffed. I didn't lose Mallory when the Joker was assigned to me and that's 'cause no one else could take her."

"And how is that going?"

"Its going great," the Joker butted in. They were talking about him, he should be allowed to take part in the conversation. "How's your wife?"

(A little context, Strange was going through a very messy divorce.)

Both looked over at him. Harley, he could tell was trying hard not smile; which was a shame, she looked even prettier when she smiled. Strange looked like he wanted to hit him. Which was a shame too, that would probably snap the Joker out of this stupor.

"I am still going to get that meeting with Dr. Arkham. We'll see if your confidence is correct."

Exit stage right Dr. Strange.

"I am not going to encourage your behavior." Harley addressed him, with a slight scolding tone.

"And I'm not going to encourage yours"

"I was the one who was respectful and professional. Harleen is fine for the break room but its Dr. Quinzel otherwise. Especially in front of my patients."

Oh yeah 'cause the Joker might get ideas about referring to her as something other then Dr. Quinzel.

"I was talking about your behavior as a home wrecker." He tsked and shook his head. " I was sensing some sexual tension between you and Dr. Strangelove."

"So, in the break room hhmmm" he added as a after thought.

"Well there is no fooling you is there? The man does his best to undermine me at every single turn but that accent…" Harley placed a hand on her chest and sighed "that accent just makes me wet."

"Harley!"

She didn't correct him for once; she was too busy smirking at his expression of complete disbelief and shock. If she achieved that, she deserved to be smug.

The Joker didn't know what he was going say, something was forming but then Harley bent over to retrieve her discarded clipboard. It turned out she didn't need to lose a button; he got a perfect look at her perky breasts supported by black lace and tiger print.

That combined with their previous discussion snapped him out of his stupor. Some parts of him more than others.

There was no other choice but to ignore …it… and he should stress that that would not be any different if he was alone. He may not have complete control over his body but he could control himself. Admittedly this was not the first time the Joker had been turned on by Harley, scratch that, Dr. Quinzel.

This was the first time that there was a serious risk of someone finding out and the last person he wanted to know was the temptress herself. It was bad enough that there was already gossip that the Joker had a thing for Harley, and it was doubtful he wouldn't be called out about it if someone saw this.

_I am wearing pants. _The Joker reminded himself. He snuck a glance down south, his condition wasn't obvious, however it unfortunately wasn't completely obscure. His view was bias due to how it felt and it likely wasn't as noticeable as he thought.

All the same he drew up his knees to a less detection able position and hoped he had moved in a casual natural fashion.

This would not be happening if he had killed her three and a half weeks ago. And if anyone noticed he was going to have to kill her.

Enter stage right, Dr. Leland and Jonathan Crane.

"Hey, could you watch him for a minute?" Joanne, at least he thought it was, asked Harley, who nodded.

Jonathan sat on the stretcher next to the Joker's.

Great. That's what he need, more pairs of eyes in the vicinity. His irritable mood began to flare up some more.

"Haven't seen you in a while, how've you been?" Harley asked Jonathan.

"Dandy." Growled Jonathan.

"Are you here to get the stick out of your ass?" asked the Joker. He could have done better but full thinking wasn't in the cards right now as not only did his brain fluid still feel like gelatin, he now was trying to operate his mind with a quarter tank of blood.

"Hey, be nice." Warned Harley. No Dr. Quinzel, it was hard to get out of that habit.

"Or I'll be punished?" Bad thing to say. Half his mind, which was apparently against him too, came up with a dozen kinky statements.

Where was twitchy-can't-find-a-vein-the-first-time nurse when you needed her? Wasn't it time for more dope? Shouldn't he be put out of consciousness and out of his misery?

This was what he, the man who had the city at his feet months ago, the Clown Prince of Crime, the Joker, had been reduced to sitting like pubescent boy in a grossly unfunny comedy movie.

There was going to be blood on the tile floor within in the hour for this!

It should be Harley's for being the asylum's slut but right now the Joker would settle for anyone.

Joanne came back, and chatted with Harley. Their patients were quiet. The Joker decided it was best to pretend to sleep and for once not draw any attention. He stopped that charade when someone put her hand on his forehead.

"You're kind of warm. You feel alright?" asked Harley. No he was uncomfortable as hell and the last thing he needed was her touching him.

The Joker could not help but squirm away from her. She took the hint and removed her hand.

She gave him a gentle smile. Though that didn't mean she knew, she smiled that way a lot. The Joker tried to put on the same bored and sleepy expression but knew his body betrayed him again and that someone as intuitive as Harley could read his unease.

If Harley noticed anything; be it physical or just his unusual display of distress. She never mentioned it and the Joker hated to say he was grateful but if there was anything he was ever grateful for in his whole entire life it was that she didn't.

(It was Jonathan Crane's blood that ended up on the floor, if you need to know)

* * *

Let's wind the clocks back to another aggravating episode. This one could be called The Apology.

After serving a week in solitary, the Joker was taken down a new hallway for "therapy".

Whoever his new shrink was, they had the power to have their sessions with him other then one in of those little rooms. That was going to make getting rid of this one all the more sweet.

Inside the office, a familiar face greeted him. Dr Harley. The orderly escorting him made sure the Joker took a seat before giving the pair their privacy.

He was so surprised by seeing Harley he didn't take much note of her office. Except the fact they both had the same way of organizing their workspace.

"I am sorry about what happened in our last session." started Harley.

What? He knocked her out and she was apologizing. What was she trying pull?

"Our time together is supposed to help you and last time we talked I forgot that. I should have backed off when I knew you were uncomfortable. That doesn't excuse how you acted but you do have right to be mad at me. I shouldn't have put you in the position I did and I am so sorry, J."

He studied her expression. She was the poster girl for sincerity. She wasn't acting. Harley wasn't trying pull anything. She was actually sorry about what happened.

"Hate to burst your bubble but you didn't make me – how'd ya word it – uncomfortable."

Harley's eyebrows disappeared under her bangs in an _oh really? _Fashion.

"You see, I didn't smack your little head into the wall because I was uncomfortable, no no I did it because you were getting too cocky. You all think that you can spin little safety nets around yourself with your beepers and your little protocols and that this will protect you from harm. But here's the kicker – you should write this one down." The Joker pulled a ballpoint pen from it holder on her desk and rolled it over to her, it was gratifying the way she had flinched when he moved. That's the way it should be. "Your safety is a bad illusion."

Harley twirled the pen in her hand.

" I think that you're projecting your own insecurities," said Harley flatly. "You're the one who doesn't feel safe. "

He hit his head against the back of the couch. She had not listen to a word he just said. The Joker may as well talk to the ceiling tiles.

"But you can't admit that. The same way you can't accept that you have been admitted to this asylum for a reason."

The Joker felt himself bristle. The look he gave her was the ultimate of menacing. Harley didn't look away.

For minutes not one of them said a word. They were locked in to a bestial state.

She was challenging him.

It was a good thing he hadn't killed her, he would have lost the chance to completely destroy her first.

_So much for not thinking about her _he scolded himself.

The problem was that he was unbelievably bored. But that was hardly an excuse. There were better things to think about. Like the Batman who used to be public enemy number one until the Joker's escape.

Batman apparently had taken the blame for all of Harvey's murders. Which for some reason everyone believed even though he did not kill the Joker.

What could be even dumber then people believing this lie was the fact that Batman (the commissioner was probably in on this too) thought that this was going to help people's morale. Sure it bested the Joker's ace, however a bluff could only work for so long. One thing that people hated more then killing – they said they hated but it was in their nature whether they liked it or not- was being lied too. When this came up, when people found out the truth, a hell fire would start burning up this city.

The Joker couldn't wait.

Of course he wasn't going sit idly by and wait for the inevitable to surface. He was going to find a way to let the people know that they were lied too, be the spark to the gasoline that had already been laid. He wasn't sure quite how, finding Harvey Dent was the idealistic way, but the Joker had no idea where he was and would have to just keep a ear out on the street for any rumors on Harvey's whereabouts.

He somehow had to find a way to pressuring the powers that be into revealing the truth. That was going to take some more processing

He would let that sit in the background of his mind while he took on the much-needed task stocking up on resources. The Joker had lost, not to sound dramatic but everything when he was detained. All he had now was: one two-bedroom bi-level, two lackeys and a switchblade that he had been whittling away the corner of the table with.

You know you have been institutionalized too long when you begin to round off corners. He needed to get out.

He went to stick the knife somewhere on the table but there wasn't even a sliver of surface for the tip.

Yesterday's copy of the Gotham Times sat unread amongst the clutter. The front-page gone to Harley, while that was a bit of a piss off, the Joker did like the picture they had of her. She was looking over her shoulder and off to the side, her eyes were wide with shock and her mouth a gape with fear. The reason he liked the picture wasn't so much Harley's expression as it was the blurred texture. It was chaotic. The name of the photographer was in the bottom right hand corner: Vicki Vale.

After what he was dubbing "Rock Gate" the Joker was under taking a side project, almost a public service believe it or not, he was going to weed out the weak journalists such as the woman from yesterday mornings broadcast and keep the good ones around because the citizens should be clear if he had kidnapped a bus of school children or a bus of puppies.

Page two and three were his. Being a spread made up for not having the front page. There was an article on his past siege of the city, dribs and drabs about his time in Arkham. There was even a description of him, which seemed like a waste of ink, there were lots of pictures of him including one without make-up, everyone in the Gotham knew what. They had got his height wrong, the Joker didn't know exactly how tall he was but he was sure he wasn't 6'2/3 as the paper stated.

Underneath the newspaper, he found another forgotten item, his Arkham file he had grabbed off one of the orderlies he had killed outside of the garage, there was blood on the corner of the manila tag folder. This was going to be interesting.

Doctor Hamill was the first. His notes and evaluation mostly revolved around schizophrenic theory. That man was clearly projecting his own mentality on to the Joker, his later notes started to make less sense and became quite paranoid, it probably didn't help that the Joker started screwing with his head but he couldn't take all the credit, there was a theory that shrinks were normally as insane as the ones they were treating and having been through the system, the Joker would agree.

He skimmed through the next couple sets of entries. He liked reading about himself but the psychological jargon was boring and repetitive. It seemed there were two teams of purposed diagnosis: Team Schizophrenia and Team Personality Disorder, some had mixed allegiances and combined them.

Somewhere around Dr. Nicholson, fourth or fifth shrink, did dissociative amnesia come up and from then on in it came up a lot, if the Joker had a drinking game including dissociative amnesia he would be gunned when he reached his eighth shrink.

Finally he got to Dr. Harley. She was Team Personality Disorder though her notes varied in the way she focused on his prescriptions more. All his other shrinks normally stuck with, what to them (and that was important point), produced the least amount of side effects. To him every side effect was as agitating as the last. Rarely did they take him off of what other doctors before them had him on. Harley switched his drugs a bit, more then he realized.

The last page in the rather thick folder was a form, similar to the x-ray form (words of advice more quickly when you stick your fingers in steel door jams), this one was for a MRI. So that's why he was taken down to the parking garage the night of his escape, he hadn't put any thought as to why, it didn't really matter. Why a MRI? The

Joker flipped back to a lengthy wordy document he brushed off as an annual report. It was a proposal to the board.

_Brain damage! _He thought indignantly.

Screw staying out of it.

The Joker was going to drag Harley out to the middle of the street and make a horrific example of her. There are some lines you never cross.

The purposed diagnoses were laughable. This was not. This was slander.

He pulled the switchblade out of the table.

This was going to get her throat slit.

* * *

The inside of her apartment was dark. His eye squinted through the shadows looking for a cowering figure. Ears trained to pick up the slightest fumbling or pitch

"Har-ley" taunted the Joker. "Ready or not here I come."

He strolled around the apartment, searching, surveying the layout and taking note of the places she would try to get too, such as the fire escape.

"Har-ley"

Broken glass and a large blood stain decorated the living room floor. The blood made a grim trail to the back of the hallway, the Joker followed it.

At the end he found Harley. Submerged in water, fully clothed in the bathtub.

He flicked on a light, after the shock to his retinas; he made out the details more clearly. The blood trail continued vividly across the porcelain of the tile and sides of the tub, the water was tinged pink, in messy scrawl on the shower wall, she had wrote in blood _You Win. _

And Harley. She was no longer the young naïve doctor. The stance she took when she was staring down orderlies or anyone else was the definition of juxtaposition to the lifeless object she was now.

He shouldn't be here. It felt, there was no other way to describe it, wrong. This was private.

In the next morning or so, it wouldn't be, this would be public. This would be plastered all over the headlines. The press had ripped her apart in the short time they had and her story would end with them saying her suicide was due to guilt.

They didn't know how strong she was and were too shallow to understand that someone could only be strong for so long.

He wasn't going to tamper with the scene. This was between Harley and Gotham.

There was a need to see the mark left by the rock that someone had thrown at her yesterday. The Joker brushed her hair away from her eye. There was a purple red bruise along the side of her face, the skin had been torn but not deep.

His hand traced it down, moved beyond it on to her neck.

The small beat of a pulse hit faintly against his hand.

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you for reading, subscribing and faving

Shout-out: rowellylovesgryffindor, Thank you for the review I am glad you like how I have Harley. Writing Harley has been a bit of a challenge since she was not in the Nolanverse, but she isn't an OC either, so I don't have full liberties with her.

I want to say thank you to my girl Aves, for spontaneously encouraging me on facebook to get a move on.

I said the Clown Prince would get his own chapter.

The whole Infirmary part had two purposes 1) some humor, things have been a rightfully dark and sad 2) more importantly from what I know about this twisted relationship, if the Joker had feelings for Harley, they would be beyond his control and he would hate them.

Obviously Harley doesn't die here, the question is what is the Joker going to do.


	9. Ghost Keeper

_11 days before T.O.D_

* * *

Within second's blood spilled on the carpet, coated her forearms and the jagged piece of glass. Harleen had to hold on to it so tightly while she drew the end across her other wrist that it's serrated edges punctured the inside of her palm.

_What have you done? _ Cried a voice inside her.

_What I needed too. _She answered calmly.

_What happened isn't your fault and you know it._

_It is not about that anymore. _

Like after the initial burst of a river as it breaks through a dam, her blood flowed more evenly down her arms now. Yet it still was a destructive force.

_No, please, please don't _a part of her continue to plead.

Harleen felt drained. She lay down on the floor. Among the broken glass. Among her stars.

She lay there for an unmeasured amount of time, waiting to drift off, waiting to be unburdened, waiting above all else to be free.

It could have been an hour or it could have been only minutes.

_Just a little longer. _She thought over and over again

Time was all Harleen had as she let it slip through her hands.

She wasn't bleeding anymore. Harleen picked up the same rough diamond shaped fragment from before and pressed it in deeper. Alcohol consumption did not exempt her from pain. She hissed as nerves fired.

_Don't go like this._

Harleen had endured too much pain and discomfort in the last few days_; _she shouldn't die feeling that way. Not if it was her choice.

Before she realized that she had even picked herself off of her living room floor. Harleen flung herself into the still full bathtub. The water churned violently, spilling over the side of the bathtub. Then it lay calm.

This was the end.

As much as she made herself believe it was her choice. Deep down she knew it wasn't. If it weren't for what they were saying about her, what they were doing to her, crucifying her mercilessly, Harleen would not be laying here tonight.

She had plans. After all the blood, sweat and tears, Harleen had become a psychiatrist and she planned to follow that career for years, it was her calling. She wanted to have a family one-day if she could. Mostly though she was just planned to live as life came to her.

That wasn't to say she was going to take a back seat. Harleen had ambitions too, all of them now reduced to dreams as broken as she was. She would never learn to play guitar, she would never get to go zip-lining, she would never see Spain, she would never be a part of a protest, she would never get a tattoo, she would never try to make a dress out of floral print curtains, she would never go noodling and she would never be able gather the courage to visit her brother's grave.

Harleen didn't plan on or dream of dying in her bathtub at twenty-six years old.

Her eyes were starting to get heavy. The finale was drawing closer.

Harleen didn't really want to die. But she could not live this way, not with all this hurt.

You win, she wrote with the last of her strength.

* * *

It was faint but there was no mistaking it. Harley had a pulse.

The Joker reminded himself that he had said he wasn't going to tamper with the scene.

But that was before she was alive.

He got up and turned on his heel so quick the bath mat slid under his feet. Harley being alive did not change a thing.

She was as good as dead.

He lingered by the bathroom door, looking over the scene. Gotham needed to take a good hard look in the mirror when they called him a cold-blooded killer. They had ripped her to pieces but never had the decency to go in for the final kill, instead forced her hand to keep the blood off their own. Nevertheless this was murder, that was basically what she had written on the wall.

In the morning or whenever the story broke no one else would see it as murder. They would see a guilty conscience, someone who could not live with herself after what she had done. And his attendance tonight would go unnoticed and he would be the only one that knew the truth.

It was out of the heat of the moment (with boredom running in a close second) that he had come here in the first place. He should leave.

Leave Harley to her fate, leave her to die and allow her death to be misconstrued by the same people that killed her.

Or the Joker could completely change the course of purposed events.

He rolled up his sleeves as he walked back over to her. He pulled her from her watery grave and put her on the floor in one clumsy, almost consecutive movement. The Joker tried not to think about what he was doing because he could not understand it.

Something struck him as odd as he surveyed the damage she had done. That water hadn't even been piss warm, but the slits on Harley's wrists were deep, suggesting that she had meant it. If she wasn't playing around, why wouldn't she use hot water. It didn't add up.

One step at a time and the next step would be to make her quit bleeding. There wasn't a first aid kit in the cupboard under the sink. He looked in the medicine cabinet; a bottle of prescription drugs caught his eye. A bit curious the Joker picked it up, VENLAFAXINE, it didn't ring any bells, wonder it's for? Absently-mindedly he stepped back and stepped right on Harley's rib cage. Oh right, now was not the best time to get side tracked, whatever medical condition Harley had wasn't as important as her self inflicted condition.

Most women had sewing kits, he didn't know where most women would keep a sewing kit but Harley had waited this long, she would have to wait a little longer while he looked for one.

The first place he looked was the linen closest; it made the most sense but no dice.

Where else would she keep a sewing kit?

The answer to that was out in the open, on her couch where she had been working on a sweater or something, (Not a damn word, he wasn't a journalist). With it he returned to Harley who was still lying on the floor and continued to lie there as the Joker stitched her up even though the needle was dull.

From the look of the stains on her carpet, Harley had lost a lot of blood. She may be beyond the point of a simply patch job and could need medical attention. He thought finishing up one wrist with still not so much as a flinch from her.

Taking her to a hospital would be cruel. The press would have field day with the latest developments and would continue to rip her apart and against her wishes she would have to endure it. It would be kinder to let Harley die.

Which brought up the question the Joker had driven from his mind. Why wasn't he?

Maybe it was because she had fallen so out of favor with Joe public she had landed in his good graces. No that was ridiculous for that to be the case, the Joker would have to have a good side, which he didn't.

Repaying a debt was completely ruled out. He wasn't taking care of her because she took care of him.

The only explanation that was at best remotely absurd was the Joker knew Harley. He knew how head strong she was, she had challenged him of all people. This last act of hers wasn't defiant. It was weak. It wasn't Harley and that's why it initially unsettled him.

At the end of the line he knotted it, twisted the thread tight around his finger and snapped it off.

Harley still may not make it but at least the Joker had given her a fighting chance.

Not all actions needed to be justified.

The next thing to do would be to try and warm her up. Harley would have better chance if she didn't feel like the corpse she resembled.

The Joker picked her up, which felt pretty awkward. He had a good hold, he was just wasn't use to holding people bridal style. Apparently inexperienced with it too as he accidently hit her head on the doorframe, no light knock either.

"Ah shit"

He tensed, anticipating her to wake up. She remained as limp as before. That wasn't a good sign.

Between the bathroom and her bedroom, the Joker got semi- use to holding Harley, he was careful around the doorframe this time, he turned her sideways and lifted her head higher to avoid a repeat collision.

"There we go." He told her as he set her down on her bed considerably more gently then he had put her down on the floor, and threw two blankets on her. She was still soaked but it would be best for all involved if he left her clothes on.

It was funny how a change of scenery completely masked the situation. With her cutting wounds and blood hidden under the layers of blankets Harley looked like she was only sleeping.

There was no other step for the Joker to take now, yet he felt he wasn't finished.

_Maybe you feel that way because she's alive. _A rather displeased voice piped up.

In Memory of Sharon Sorkin; read a memoriam card on her nightstand. The Joker put up beside Harley's face. The woman pictured on the front bore a strong resemblance to Harley. He read the description inside as best as he could in the dark.

_Sharon Sorkin, a women_ of blah blah blah, _passed away peacefully_ (aw boring) _on_, he couldn't actually read the date, it was smudgy. The Joker knew it was last month because Harley had taken off for two weeks. _Predeceased by father Marvin and mother Arleen and son Barry Quinzel, survived by sisters Karla and Megan, brother Paul, grandchildren Nicholas and Jennifer, daughter-in-law Nicole and_ (sure enough) _daughter Harleen. _

The Joker's slight curiosity now peaked. There had to be plenty of personal items around here, it was Harley's home after all.

"I saved your life. Now I get to look at it. "

He was going to look in the nightstand drawer, but decided against it when he thought about the very intimate personal items that could potentially be in there. That was where the line was drawn. Being curious did not make him a pervert.

Her closest, though, that was probably safe. Some of her clothes, he recognized from the asylum but there was a lot he hadn't seen. And the Joker had to say he rather liked her taste in unprofessional clothes. Other then clothes there was nothing. There weren't any skeletons in Harley's closest; no shoe box full of letters, dirty secrets or the like. The closest was too safe.

Next on the hit list was her desk. It was clean compared to her desk at Arkham and beat his desk by far, that was setting the bar low. Harley apparently liked to mix work with pleasure, under a couple of _Cosmo_ magazines, he found a larger stack of psychological notes and printed off journal articles run through with a highlighter. The Joker scanned over some of it; "Questionable validity of 'dissociative amnesia' in trauma victims. Evidence from prospective studies", he rolled his eyes, there was that term again. He might as well give up.

This was more his life then hers.

At the bottom of the pile there was a single lined piece of paper with two sentences written. After all the layers he found something that was her.

_What are you feeling? _

_- That this is __dumb!_

Arkham Asylum had put him through ever therapy technique in the book. There was several involving writing crap such as feelings down. Harley had encouraged this type of therapy. What a little hypocrite.

The last thing he found was a photograph. Finally. The Joker had never seen a single picture in her office. He had looked to, nothing unhinged people more then when you started threatening loved ones. Maybe that's why she never brought pictures to work.

It was of Harley, her hair was different; she was a brunette. She was kneeling down by two young children; maybe they were her niece and nephew. They had built a sand castle, a impressive one, on a beach, all their hands were caked with sand, the little girl held a handful of Harley's light blue shirt, he knew Harley wouldn't care in the least though.

Holding this, the Joker was reminded that he knew something way more personal about Harley, then anything he could ever find in this apartment.

* * *

If he had not spent so much time in the infirmary, the Joker would not have known where he was.

Like any other time, he felt awful. It was more then just overall dopiness; he was nauseous, extremely feverish, clammy from being extremely feverish and weak.

The fluorescent lights were turned off, the much more muted, dimmed halogen lights were on meaning it was night time, Arkham appointed night time.

He could not recall how he got here, actually could not remember most of the day. At one point he had been with Dr. Harley in her office and the next thing he knew he was here. And she was angry. Dr. Harley had been yelling about something, the Joker remembered wanting to tell her to shut it so that he could sleep.

He wanted to sleep now but there was a noise keeping him awake.

Crying. That was what the noise was.

It wasn't loud uncontrolled sobbing. It sounded like hiccups and was stifled; whoever was upset was trying to be as quiet as possible.

It was coming from the other side of the curtain. He couldn't see who it was, he reached out to try to move the curtain an inch. His fingers snatched at thin air.

Gradually the weeping became less pronounced, more faint-hearted and then it just stopped.

The curtain slid back on its tracks.

It was Dr. Harley. She was the one crying.

* * *

For days after the Joker saw her differently, like she had some terminal disease. That was not saying he was concerned or cared at all. But whenever he looked in to those striking eyes of hers, he'd ask.

_What's wrong with you?_

The good doctor had made a grave mistake. One the Joker had been waiting for. She had exposed her throat.

"Ya know I've had a heck of time placing you." He started with that.

"Have you now" said Dr. Harley, having no idea what was coming.

"Yeah. See all you white coats fall in to three categories: you're either doing this for the fame or you're doing it to make the world a better place" he paused and shook his head. "Or there is a small percentage of you that are here to clear your consciences."

A small trace of fear flitted across her face. The Joker had her.

"When I first met you, bright-eyed, young, enthusiastic. Naturally I thought glory hound. However then you stuck around when things got rough, so I began thinking maybe you were a saint. But your determination, complete unwillingness to jump ship…"

If he were allowed to be up on his feet, the Joker would be circling her, savoring the little moments before the final stroke.

"Its as if your life depends on it. Because in the most pathetic way it does."

She was trying to remain straight-faced. Trying being the keyword, her mouth twitched a couple of times and she was starting to recoil.

"You know what you are?" asked the Joker.

She might have shook her head, but the movement was so small he wasn't sure if she was answering or her composure was further deteriorating. It was rhetorical question either way.

"You're a ghost keeper."

He let that sink in before continuing.

"Someone needed your help once but you didn't help them. Did you Harley?" he said soft and stinging.

That was it. That was all it took. Tears filled her eyes. It was beautiful and more.

"Now they haunt you. Tor-ment you with their cries in the dark." He teased.

Dr. Harley started the same small hiccupping cries that he had heard in the dark.

"That's why you're here, you want to put them to rest. But it won't matter if you help …um… Mallory, isn't it? Helping her or anyone else won't change that you failed them."

The Joker took in the sight of Dr. Harley, tears streaming down her face, trembling with pain. Control blown to bits.

"You won't get salvation." His tone was accusing.

She got up and made a hasty exit from her office, slamming the door behind her.

It was the last time they talked.

* * *

The music from her jewelry box was playing, tinkering notes filling her head. Harleen didn't question why it was playing, not at first.

At first glance everything seemed in order; her stereo clock blinked twelve from when the hydro went out, there was clothes scattered on the floor and nested in one by her bed, was a dog eared paperback copy of _The Lucky One_.

The music stopped with the clap of the lid.

Standing by her dresser was a man. Height, physique, slouched posture and in the dead silence, she heard them lick their lips. This was no stranger and that made it terrifying.

She had spent months with this man. Harleen had experienced first hand what the Joker could and would do. She knew this time it was going to be ten times worse.

Wishing she had invested in a gun, Harleen reached between her bed frame and mattress.

Her fingers closed around the sterling steel of a nine iron.

* * *

A/N:

**Huge** Thank You to SmilinForYa, she made me an incredible banner, you have to check it out: **:/frowninforya . deviantart . com /#/ d3bvkk7**

(remove the spaces, no linking allowed unfortunately)

As always thank you for the review, realistically I love Harley and I know you know that she has change a bit for the Nolanverse, especially if she is going to be with Nolanverse Joker you did confuse me with the Penname vs the signed name so thank for clearing that up

Melodramatic Destiny, Thank you so much (Does a curtsy) for the compliment and the encouragement.

PorterJ: Thank you for the marvelous Monday morning surprise, I have yet to see Memento but there is no such thing as too many Christopher Nolan movies. Everytime I put a flashback inside a flashback in this story, I think of Inception. I like the way you questioned me about Harley's suicidal tendencies, its really going to make me make sure I have a clear explain as to why because your right, its not like her.

Lastly all of you had the best first sentences in your reviews, I really enjoyed it.

Just before this turns the longest Author's note ever, I'm sorry this took so dang long, I've been busy trying to finish up my term. When I put up chapter 8, I knew I wouldn't be able to update for awhile, I didn't know it would be this long, next update shouldn't take as long.


	10. Quarantine

Disclaimer: I make no profit from this. If I did, I wouldn't have to go to work this afternoon.

Relevant Warnings: Just a very bad word.

* * *

_11 days before T.O.D_

* * *

She didn't notice that she was cold and wet. Harleen could not help but notice the pain in her wrists. She shrugged it off as she had been sleeping on them. That was all pushed far down the priority pole when her highly violent psychopathic ex-patient was standing mere feet from her.

The room tipped as she staggered out of bed and by some miracle Harleen managed to keep on her feet.

She wouldn't stand a chance if the Joker was alerted. Harleen had to take him out in one surprise shot.

White knuckling the handle of the golf club, she prepared to strike.

The Joker caught her reflection in the vanity mirror in time to get out of the way and the club swiped at the air where his head had been.

The force she exerted caused her to lose her balance. She swung out again in a blind attempt and got him the ribs.

But Harleen never stood a chance.

He grabbed the shaft of the nine iron. Rather then let go and put distance between them, that was almost nonexistent as he put his other hand on the club, Harleen pulled. The Joker was stronger and more sure-footed than her (a advantage that was rare in any fight he got into). A quick push back on the club caused her to fall backwards. He was on her in record time. She did the only thing she could do then and screamed. A reactive hand from the Joker silenced her.

One of her neighbor's banged on the wall. Overshadowing Harleen's muffled cries.

Both of them had acted out of pure instinct. The Joker had snapped out of it. Primal instinctual fear was still in Harleen's eyes.

_She doesn't remember what she's done. _He thought.

Harleen was understandably terrified and the Joker was doing nothing to lessen her anxiety.

"I ain't gonna hurt ya." He told her.

Harleen responded with a high-pitched squeak, the look of fear on her face increased. Of course she didn't believe him when he was holding her down. But he couldn't simply release her. It had just been proven how thin these walls were, he couldn't risk Harleen making any more noise and alerting someone. The Joker was not going back to Arkham. He would reverse the effort he put in to Harley before that happened.

While he tried to figure out a way to get out of this, Harleen had regained a little strength and futilely tried to fight. Without thinking, the Joker took his hand off her mouth and grabbed her wrist that was closing on his throat, one of her stitched up wrists.

Throbbing pain shot up Harleen's arm, she let out a high pitched yelp, that was met by another knock on the wall. The pain didn't let subside when the Joker let go to recover her mouth. It jogged her short-term memories that had been suppressed by fear.

She brought her wrist up close to her nose and squinted at it. Stitches. In place of her carving was a row of untidy stitches.

Harleen had stopped crying and squirming; she had completely frozen up. The Joker slowly took his hand off her mouth, and the other off her wet shirt collar (the only good idea he had tonight was leaving her clothes on, how many guys could say that?). She didn't move or even notice right away. She was preoccupied trying to comprehend the state of her wrists.

The stitches shouldn't be there. Neither should the wound they were keeping closed, she hadn't meant to. But since she had in fact slit her wrists. Harleen shouldn't be here and neither should the stitches.

Her nails turned inward.

"At ta ta ta taa, don't do that." The Joker intervened. He grabbed her arm instead of her wrist. It wasn't as an effective spot but it didn't hurt her so she kept quiet.

The look she gave him could have almost been defiant, if she didn't look so lost.

Her eyes wandered back to the stitches. But she didn't touch them again.

The Joker was no shrink like Harley here, though he was good at reading people and distress was an all to common display. Maybe she would calm down if she couldn't see the stitches. The whole out of sight, out of mind concept.

"Ok you just stay here and I'll be right back."

With Harleen's thoughts scattered all over the place, it took longer then it should for the Joker's words to register. He had told her not to move, she didn't have anywhere to go. She shouldn't be here. Her mind jumped that track in order to protect her.

She was cold, she had to get out of these damp clothes. The jogging shorts she had discarded hours ago were within arms reach. Somehow she managed to slip out of her wet jeans and into them, each twist of her wrists caused them burn with pain. She grabbed the handle of her top dresser drawer, her pajama drawer, to pull it open and herself up. She succeeded in opening it, pulling the whole drawer out of the dresser.

The Joker heard the _thunk_, he listened intently for a few seconds. Dead silence. He didn't find any band-aids. He would have to innovate again, with paper towel and scotch tape.

Harleen had just enough time to put on a dry t-shirt before he came back into the room.

Without asking because he really didn't know how to word it, the Joker took one of her wrists and wrapped the paper towel around it, careful to avoid putting any pressure on her tender skin. When he was done, Harleen actually meekly offered her other wrist.

_You've done more then enough. Now leave her self-mutilating ass. _

Like the last time he didn't listen to himself.

"Easy now, doc"

The Joker put an arm around her shoulders and hooked the other one under her knees. He couldn't leave her on the floor.

_Ten bucks says she starts kicking and screaming. _

She didn't. Instead she did something unsettling; she wrapped her arms around him, grabbing on the back of his shirt.

Apparently Harleen would cut herself but she drew the line at being dropped.

If the Joker thought holding this woman was awkward before. Awkwardness had reached a whole new level now that she was conscious and compliant, not to mention the direct skin-on-skin contact between his arm and the back of her knees.

Thankfully it was only two steps to her bed. He put her down as nicely as he could in a rushed fashion. Harleen, however, did not want to let him go. He intertwined their fingers and broke her hold on his collar; she then refused to let go of his hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

If he had been dead set on leaving, the Joker could easily break Harleen's determined hold on him. He was not dead set on leaving and sat down on the edge of the bed, allowing Harleen to keep holding his hand. (There is a reason that sounds extremely bizarre, because it is extremely bizarre.)

It was one of the rare moments in the pair's history where neither of them talked.

Their feelings were mutual confusion; each one was trying figure out not only the other but also themselves.

* * *

The fresh air was holding a potential migraine at bay while the Joker tried to wrap his head around what happened on the walk back, well let's just not add anymore confusion and call it home.

He had gone over to Harley's to kill her and ended up saving her life.

The water being as cool as it was probably saved her life. The Joker tried to console himself. There was no denying he had definitely helped though. Harley had been pretty spry when she came too. His ribs were smarting from where she got him with the golf club.

He had killed for so much less then that and that fight should have triggered that murdering impulse of his. And it hadn't even crossed his mind.

That was disturbing.

The next person he laid eyes on he was going to kill.

(It had been noted a couple of times in his Arkham file, that the Joker did not deal well with frustration.)

The Joker shouldn't feel the need to prove anything to himself and feeling that need now had him seeing red.

A lady of the night stood on duty as he got in to the Narrow's.

_Perfect. _

He kept his focus purely on the unfortunate slut, his gait had quickened from leisurely to dead set determined. He could pretend to be a customer to get her somewhere secluded. Forgoing his makeup and usual attire this evening, the only thing that would give him away would be the scars.

Screw it he was just going to knife her where she stood without even a hello. Sure she'd scream, hell he hoped she would. This was the Narrows, no one would dare get involved, the Joker didn't need to worry about keeping her quiet like he had with –

_Don't go there. _He warned himself, shaking the rest of that off.

As the Joker closed in on his prey, he started to measure her up, almost literally as he noticed how big her heels were.

Did hookers always wear their patented boots to further advertise their scantily clad derrières?

That odd thought stopped him like he had run into wall. Some retarded hooker saving force field.

He tried to break the connection between the two but it only strengthened as he watched her snuff out her cigarette under her boot and run her fingers through her no doubt bleached blonde hair. Two traits that reminded him of another two cent whore (inside joke).

And this one would be spared as Harley was.

The switchblades weight in his pocket was an aggravating reminder of what the Joker had failed to do. Again. There was a diagnosis, a spine-chilling word, for his reoccurring failure to performance, impotency. Never did he think he would suffer, and he was suffering, from this dysfunction

From here on out, no matter what he heard, the Joker would not be tempted to go near her again.

There was no delicate way to say it.

Harley had fucked him up.

* * *

Despite being hung over, Harleen snapped awake quickly when she recalled the previous night.

In sober state it didn't seem like it could have actually happened. The evidence that it had was hidden under paper towel, the paper towel itself was verification that the bits and pieces she could remember and those she couldn't had really happened.

A joker playing was enclosed in her left hand, somehow she had held on to it all night. The sight of it sent a cold sense of dread down her back.

_Why would he do this? _She asked looking at it, before throwing it as if it was hot into the drawer in her nightstand.

Don't get her wrong, Harleen wasn't ungrateful she was alive. She hadn't wanted to die and had made the big irrational decision to do so on a hope-abandoned heart full of wine. A fatal combination if it weren't for the Joker.

That didn't make sense at all.

He wasn't her patient anymore and she was still trying to figure out the Joker's behavior. She didn't have answers to that before and this was something completely different, the polar opposite of the behavior she had tried to analyze in Arkham. Harleen wasn't going to make any headway in her state so she wasn't even going to try.

With no job, Harleen had no reason at all to get out of bed, that didn't feel as depressing as it sounded. She kept the aspirin within arms reach so on mornings like today she wouldn't have to.

Another thing in reach (barely) was Nicolas Sparks' _The Lucky One_. Stretching herself more then halfway out of bed, making the mistaking of using one hand to support her when her waist hung off the edge, attached to that hand was a sore wrist. Her arm buckled but Harleen snagged the book without falling and retreated back to the comfort and warmth, escaping into another world.

Her stomach growling brought her back. If only she was really was a witch and could summon food. Giggling at her foolishness, She waved her bookmark. She couldn't remember the spell, looks like Harleen had to get up.

It was the middle of the afternoon but she had skipped breakfast and the only thing she wanted to eat was mini wheat's. Of course she didn't have any.

Couldn't anything go right?

The initial burning of tears forming stung her eyes.

It was remarkable how the smallest of things could push her over the edge. Harleen hadn't known how unstable she was.

She caught her breath. She was not going to cry over cereal. She was going to go to the store.

It would do her some good to get out. She told herself, trying to deny the premonition of leaving the apartment.

Before she went out, Harleen would have to clean herself up.

Her hair was matted, her skin was pale and her arms had an unhealthy amount of blood on them. Harleen looked like a character in a horror movie. Considering a psychopath knew where she lived, Harleen could be in a horror movie.

Then again, it appeared she was in more danger in her own company than in his.

The bath water was still in the tub. Another frightening proof of last night. She pulled the plug and watched it drain away. There was oddity in the movement of the water, she reached in and scooped up a piece of glass. This diamond fragment was her strongest memory. Harleen put it in the medicine cabinet. Deranged as it was to keep it, she couldn't throw it out and she didn't have the will to try.

* * *

Harleen was dogged with glares at the grocery store.

Consciously she walked through the aisles, avoiding ones with people in them.

Unfortunately there only one till open so there was no avoiding the other patrons at the check out.

The whispers, those were the worst.

* * *

"Have a good night, Harleen?" Her neighbor, Cynthia asked her when she returned to the complex "You know some of us have to work in the morning, so if you could control the volume during your nightly escapades for the next two weeks that would be appreciated."

Cynthia didn't give her the chance to respond, Harleen was too stunned to have a response anyway.

_Two weeks? _Puzzled Harleen. She didn't get it until the third floor stairwell. When she did, she knew before she got to her apartment what was there waiting for her.

She was being cast out, not just by the landlord, but also by the whole city. Treated like she had some infectious disease.

Harleen was quarantined.

It wasn't just an eviction notice. It was a red X they put on her door.

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you for reading, subscribing and faving.

PorterJ, Thank you for the movie recommendation, don't worry all will be explained in time.

Not much for me to say, only things are rough for all our main characters.


	11. More What If's

_5 minutes after T.O.D_

* * *

"_You're born alone, you damn sure die alone" _

Joan scrapped the bottom of the cup for the last mango yogurt.

"… _only the weak need help." _

"_I should get that tattooed on my-" _

Joan didn't get to hear where J.D was getting the tattoo because _Scrubs _switched in to Summer Gleeson from GCN. Summer was standing outside, in the background bright yellow police tape waved in the breeze.

Having lived in Gotham for years therefore use to breaking news, Joan felt more peeved about the interruption than anything else. For the past two weeks she had been dealing with the aftermath of the Joker's escape, she came home from the asylum late and exhausted, before getting up early to go right back to it.

God help her if the Joker had something to do with this. It was bad enough he had turned everything at Arkham upside down and backwards, now he had to screw with her favorite TV show too.

Joan grabbed the remote and about to turn it off. Then she read the title:

_EX-DOCTOR HARLEEN QUINZEL DEAD. _

Her heart plummeted.

"I am standing on the edge of Gotham City Square where just moments ago Harleen Quinzel took her own life at its center."

_Took her own life. _Joan repeated stunned.

That couldn't be right.

Not homicide, not forced. Suicide. Her choice.

"Julie witnessed the whole thing from across the street" Summer introduced the dark haired woman standing with her, "Can you tell us what you saw."

Julie nodded, her huge eyes flicked over her left shoulder to the scene behind them. The camera followed them. The scene that had been mostly cut off on the sidelines came in to full view, front row and center.

"Oh my god." Whispered Summer, but not quietly enough, off screen.

Harleen, or what use to be, was lying crumpled and broken a few meters away. Not far enough, the details the camera could pick would far too many, like the unmistakable revolver discarded next to her. Joan had not put any thought how she died; now there was no questioning it. Her head was lolled toward them; her eyes did not stare out with cruel vengeance of the dead, because her eyes were shut. There was no trace of life on her face. There was blood pooling under her.

The image was too gruesome for Joan but she couldn't avert her eyes.

This wasn't just an unlucky victim for her, someone she'd hear about but forget in the next few days. This was someone she knew, a colleague, someone she would go out with for beers at the end of a long week. Regrettably someone she had said some pretty nasty things to the very last time they had talked and now she'd never be able to take them back.

A white sheet was put over Harleen. It was too late. The image would haunt Joan most likely forever.

"Julie" prompted Summer. The camera panned back over to the anchorwoman and her interviewee.

"well I saw…saw her run in-"

"Harleen?" asked Summer, clarifying the situation.

"Yes, um I saw her run into the square. I didn't think anything of it until the police cars drove up. They parked all along here." Julie pointed at the two remaining squad cars. The space in between them created a mental image of where the others use to be. "Men wearing masks started to come in to square."

"Were they clown masks?"

"Yes."

"Do you think anyone of them could have been the Joker?"

"I don't know" Julie shook her head, shocked by the question.

"Sorry, continue"

"So the men came in from over there. She didn't make any move to run and…and then…she-" Julie choked up, she covered mouth, pausing for a moment to try to get a hold of herself. "she, Harl – I'm sorry. I can't"

Summer nodded sympathetically, patting Julie's shoulder as she walked away.

"Her life came to a sudden tragic end and the only thing anyone can say now is why? We will now go to Mike Engel in the newsroom now but GCN will continue to be on live on scene."

The phone started ringing, Joan moved to answer it on the third ring.

"Hello"

"Hey Joan."

It was her sister and closest confidante, Andrea.

"Have you seen the news?" asked Andrea hesitantly.

"Yeah I just saw it" her voice came out thick with emotion.

"I'm sorry Joan. Do you want me to come over?"

"Awe Andy, its late"

"I can be over there in forty minutes." She said in a gentle, yet argumentative tone.

"Alright" Joan agreed.

"See you soon."

The twelve o'clock news started early. Mike Engel did a very brief re-cap about Harleen's death before moving on to other stories.

Joan thought about her late co-worker.

Jeremiah had met Harleen at a psychology conference in Nevada. Impressed with her, he offered her job at Arkham. Enthusiastic as she always was, Harleen moved out to Gotham within a week.

At first Harleen agitated Joan. She was young; Joan had met a small percentage younger, and had the naivety that came with that youth.

Harleen never let either of these two traits define her.

* * *

A high-pitched cackle echoed in the hallway, disturbingly getting closer and louder. There was only one person Joan knew to have a blood-chilling laugh like that.

She looked up from the computer at the front desk to see the Joker being jostled along by no less then four orderlies and one guard. The Joker wasn't resisting at all. Joan hoped that it would stay like that, not so much for her fellow staff members but because Jeremiah was out of town right now, leaving her to run the asylum in his stead so if they hurt him, Harleen would be in _her _office making a racket.

That's not saying that she did not care about the abuse that went on within these walls. When Joan first started at Arkham she gone on the same crusade Harleen was on right now to end it and she had been older with more experience then Harleen. But there was no way of pinning assaults on anyone, the patients were either too scared of repercussions or were too prideful to admit to what was happening to them. So like others before her, Joan threw in the towel. Nothing ever changed and continuous failures take a heavy toll. Harleen would learn that heartbreaking lesson one day.

As the Joker's laughter faded away, Joan went back to the quick email she had to send out before she saw her next patient.

If the Joker had been down here, then he would've been in a therapy session. That meant he would've been with Harleen. Joan realized.

She practically ran down the hall.

_Please let her be all right. _

When she got to the open door, her worst fear materialized when she looked inside.

Like the ever-present danger of keeping a wild animal, had it only been a matter of time before the Joker killed someone?

"She's alive, Dr. Leland" said Henry, "I called the infirmary, someone is bringing a stretcher. Look at this"

Henry brushed Harleen's hair back. Distinct finger mark bruises lined the back of her neck. Harleen may need time off and worker's compensation if the bruises went deep and there was damage to the ligaments in her neck. But still she had gotten off lucky.

How many times had Joan warned her? The answer was one too many times.

She'd listen now. But its not like she was going to be in the same room with the Joker again, not after this.

"What happened?" asked Joan.

"I'm not exactly sure. The alarm went off so we came in. She was already out though. Joker was just sitting on the table waiting for us, he was the one who hit the panic button, had it in his hand." Said Henry. "I thought we were too late. Guess he's getting rusty."

She nodded in agreement even though she did not believe for one second that the Joker accidently left Harleen alive, he wouldn't be careless about something like this. If he had sounded the alarm himself, he had all the time to ensure she didn't have a pulse.

The Joker chose to keep her alive.

There was only one person she had the chance to get the answer out of.

"Could you stay with her?" asked Joan, already leaving.

His dark eyes immediately locked on to her as she entered the small solitary cell.

"_Has gorgeous eyes, doesn't he?" _ It was Harleen that said that once. Joan only thought they were unnerving.

"I don't think I'll be able to write a statement or sign anything." The Joker shrugged his shoulders, gesturing to the strait jacket. "I'll be more then happy to talk about though."

"Good. What happened?"

"I slammed her head into the wall and then I throttled her," he giggled.

Joan remained unphased. She wouldn't let him get to her that easy. It was a given that he would try.

"Why?"

"Actions speak louder then words" he licked his lips, his eyes had yet to leave Joan. "I had to show Har-leen, and all you people that you aren't as safe as you as you think you are. For example your panic buttons aren't very efficient when they're yanked from your hands."

That made her a little nervous.

"That's really why? Nothing happened between you and Dr. Quinzel to make you angry?"

"Nope" he snapped with a definite tone. "Let's not beat around the bush Joanne."

"Its Joan" she corrected on impulse, accidently giving him permission to use her first name.

"You're really here to figure out why I didn't finish the job, aren't ya?"

As she suspected, the Joker knew Harleen was still among the living.

"Its no secret, I could have." Growled the Joker, it was the lowest pitch she had ever heard from his mouth.

Joan had thought she was prepared for something like this, that nothing he said would scare her. That last sentence made her fight the urge to bolt out the door. It wasn't just the threatening way he said it directly to her or the glint of malice only a sadistic killer could achieve. It was the whole feel of the cell.

Truth be told, Joan hadn't spent much time with the Joker. She had never experienced one of his sudden mood swings, only heard about them from others. No one ever mentioned how it changed the atmosphere of the room to a feeling of anxious anticipation, like the still in the air before a thunderstorm.

"I had the chance to think, once Harley stopped struggling and passed out that is, who would be my shrink if she goes. I've heard talk that it would be – ah – yoouuu. Neither of us wants that."

He was right, odds were that she would his doctor. She would've been already if Dr. Arkham didn't want to give Harleen a chance with him first. Deep down, maybe that's why she hadn't liked her at first. Now that it was almost certain she would be this time. Joan didn't want it. The prestige of his case was not worth the pain he was, definitely not worth the danger of being his presence. Not to mention she had some severe personal conflicts with the man. Her sister had almost died after he shot up her car, causing her to drive in to a street lamp.

"I don't think Dr. Quinzel will still be your psychiatrist after today."

"Huh, wanna bet?"

Her eyebrows furrowed in response.

"Come on a hundred bucks" he prodded. "I'm good for it. "

"No."

And with that she left. It was unclear whether or not she got what she came for. The Joker could have easily been lying about wanting Harleen to remain his doctor. But if he wasn't, the message between the lines was he liked Harleen as his doctor.

Joan went back to the infirmary to check on Harleen. Her luck went beyond simply being alive, there was no damage to her neck and she only had a very mild concussion. All the same, Dr. Wyatt wanted her to stay for an hour to be safe. Making now a good time to get the other side of the story.

There was an embarrassed knowing look on Harleen's face before Joan even asked what happened?

"Please hold all questions and comments about how stupid I was until the end." Started Harleen. "A couple of days ago, the Joker was asking if he could have a newspaper, complaining he felt cut off from the world. I didn't see a problem with it but I thought I better run it by Dr. Arkham, who did see a problem, one I should've saw myself."

"That it would be feeding his obsession," nodded Joan.

"Yep, that is exactly what I told him when he asked again today and that led into a rather heated discussion about his insanity."

Joan could see exactly why he attacked her. Whether or not the Joker liked her, he didn't take kindly to being called crazy or having it insinuated. It wasn't all that careless; it wasn't anything Joan was going to scold her for.

"I kept pushing it even though I could see how uncomfortable it was making J. But I've been so frustrated lately and thought I could gain something because for once he was getting flustered. " Harleen rubbed her neck, "I gained something alright, what I deserved."

Her mouth twisted involuntary, Joan did not like when Harleen shortened the Joker to J. Because it made him sound more like a human then the monster he really was. And that's exactly why Harleen did it. Though she usually tried not to in front of Joan.

"You rattled _him? _" asked Joan.

That was incredibly stupid and very hard to believe.

"You could say that" Harleen looked ashamed of herself.

"How?" she asked to earnestly.

A flame flicked up in her blue eyes.

"I know the deal with my taking the Joker's case was that I had to report to you and Dr. Arkham but Joan, there is a degree of doctor patient confidentiality still. I've done enough damage for one day."

She had seen that look on the young doctor many times before. Determination, the kind that gets people to get back up no matter how many times or how hard they have been knocked down.

The Joker had assaulted her and yet she would not betray him.

"How long will he be in solitary?" asked Harleen.

"A week."

"I suppose there's no way around that. I hate losing time." Harleen ran her fingers through her hair, wincing as she went through snags.

Joan was not as shocked as she felt she should be.

"Harleen, you don't have to continue with him. Everyone will understand. You made more progress with him then anyone."

"Exactly, I've worked to hard to quit because of one setback. "

Joan would hardly call what happened today a setback.

"Maybe you should think this over. I would hate to see you get hurt again." That came out angrier then she had intended. But Joan was getting angry with her.

" There is nothing to think about." Harleen met and raised Joan's anger. "I'll admit that I took the Joker's case in the first place to help my own career and I'm not going to pretend that I am not scared to hold another session with him in week because I am close to terrified at the very thought. But I have to think about more then myself; J needs someone to stay with him for once."

Her anger had dissipated at the end. It was replaced with fear. Harleen was afraid that Joan would convince Jeremiah to take her off the Joker's case.

In hindsight that's what Joan should have done.

The Joker had her figured out, he knew he could use her.

Harleen's heart was in the right place but very much with the wrong person.

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you for reading, subscribing and faving!

Yay another point of view. I wanted to explain why everyone was so sure Harleen helped the Joker, which has everything to do with how they were as doctor and patient.

The next chapter will get in to that, it will pick up where this one left off; a very rocky/nonexistant transition between flashbacks of Joan's, I've got it half done. It will be up really soon, cross your fingers that I don't have to work tomorrow.

The person Summer was interviewing was Julie Madison, for those wondering if the name Julie was a coincidence or not, and for those who don't know who she is she is a flame of Bruce's in the comics and was in Batman and Robin. So yeah no one belongs to me


	12. Indistinguishable, Part I

_10 minutes after T.O.D_

* * *

Unfortunately Joan did not know how much of Harleen's heart was wrapped up in his case until she saw it right in front of her, literally saw her heart sitting in front of her. By then it was too late, the Joker had a good hold on it, his fingers intertwined in her heartstrings, able to play them like a puppet master.

* * *

It was another twelve-hour plus day for the two psychiatrists.

At least they were out of the asylum by ten o'clock.

Joan sat in the waiting room of Johnson Hospital on 30th, which was reserved for the rest of the Arkham entourage with her; Harleen, two maximum-security ward guards, and the Joker, who was the whole reason they were here; he had, for no rhythm or reason, broke two of his fingers. At least they were fairly sure it was an inside job, Harleen would've called abuse if she had even the slightest doubt it wasn't self-inflicted or accidental.

But then again Harleen hadn't been her usual feisty self come of late. A forlorn air had greatly dampened her upbeat spirit, which was expected from someone who just lost her mother, and to make matters worse still grieving, she came back, to what Joan knew Harleen would be worrying about the whole time she was away, the Joker getting hurt.

_She should not worry herself sick over you_. Joan thought resentfully at the clown seated across from them.

Her cell phone briefly vibrated in her purse, making an obnoxious humming noise. It was an agitating reminder of how frustrating it was to be sitting in this waiting room when Joan had frontloaded all her work yesterday in order to get to see her boyfriend tonight. Now the stress was all for nothing.

It wasn't even necessary in a functional sense for Joan to come with them since Harleen was the Joker's psychiatrist. Joan's presence was all for the image of the asylum, having a senior doctor accompany the controversial pair would save the asylum from more chastising by the city, at least that's what the hope was.

Due to a recent incident Joan had learned there was delusion among some of the other staff, especially the infirmary nurses, that Harleen possessed some level of control over him.

A couple weeks ago Joan had gone to the infirmary with nauseous Jonathan. Harleen was there with a concussed Joker.

Though Harleen never voiced any complaints about their small medical faculty. Whenever one of her patients was there, she would check in on them numerous times, saying she was making sure they were handling things okay. That was truth with Mallory or Leon, both got upset if the smallest thing changed in their daily routine. However the Joker loved change. It was just Harleen being as protective as a first time mother.

While she was waiting for Dr. Simon to look at Jonathan, the two caught up, Joan had thought it was odd the Joker was so quiet. Harleen said he was tired.

Though not even two minutes had passed after Harleen left to see another patient, did the Joker find the energy to nearly break Jonathan's nose.

"He was faking all afternoon, could have done that to anyone, anytime today" Joan overheard Christa whisper to Ann. "I told you, Dr Quinzel keeps him in check"

Joan knew better. It wasn't Harleen's absence that triggered him; the Joker had been provoked. She was close enough to hear Jonathan say something to the Joker, she wasn't close enough or paying enough attention to hear what was said. She thought she heard the words tight body but she must have misheard.

When she asked Jonathan about it later, he looked liked he really wanted to tell her, which was a rarity, but wouldn't say what he said to provoke his fellow inmate. Harleen questioned the Joker, who just said that he needed to hit someone.

The nurses here did not share this delusion as one of them came over with the forms. She kept an eye on the Joker, who kept an unwavering eye on her, she handed over the clipboard with the registration forms to Harleen and once it was out of her hands, she scurried away.

Harleen scanned it over, and sighed. Since they had nothing on the patient sitting across from them, every basic question was not simply answered.

"Last name patient ID, first name alias," Harleen ran by Joan.

"Nu-uh" the Joker shook his head clumsily. "First name Oberon, last name Sssex-ton"

"How are you feeling Oberon?" asked Harleen, jotting down his patient ID number, knowing it by heart.

"In the words of our mutual friend Scarecrow, dandy"

"Let me know if anything changes, alright?"

"Yes, ma'am"

It was no sign of respect. Joan knew that to Harleen, ma'am was an insult. She scowled down at the clipboard to avoid encouraging him.

She stole a glance at Harleen's neat writing on the registration form. With most answers being unknown she was almost done. Good they should be able to get out of here soon. The hospital would want them out of here as soon as possible.

"You ready to tell me how you broke your fingers?" asked Harleen tiredly.

"A magician never reveals his secrets" the Joker spread his hands as far as the handcuffs allowed and wiggled the fingers he could, it had to be the world's saddest attempt at jazz hands. The two broken digits hardly twitched under dirty, bloody gauze. "But do you wanna know how I got these scars? "

"Oh I don't know. Alcoholic father, loan sharks, junkie girlfriend, evil stepmother or everyone's worst enemy, yourself. Whatever bullshit story your marvelous imagination concocted, save it for therapy. The only thing I want to hear right now is the truth about what you did to your fingers. " Snapped Harleen.

She waited a moment, getting no response from a disgruntled Joker she scratched off the last blank on the form with a flourish and got up to take it over to reception so the timid nurse wouldn't have to come back over. Leaving everyone for the most part in shock.

Of course Joan knew that they fought, but this was the first time that she had ever seen Harleen snap at him. The first time she had witnessed anyone snap at him and from the look on the Joker's face she could tell he wasn't use to it.

Her cell phone started vibrating again.

"You gonna get that?" asked the Joker.

"Eventually" Joan replied, after getting over the split second shock of having him address her.

Once Harleen came back, she would look at it. Maybe she was being overly cautious but the more pairs of eyes on him the better. The Joker was way too alert for the amount of sedatives he was given. That meant they would were going to be here a little longer then she hoped. No doctor was going to get near him until that changed.

"You and Carter going through a rough patch?" he asked curiously.

Joan had no clue how he knew her boyfriend's name. It was a new addition to the ever growing list of things the Joker knew and shouldn't.

"That is none of your business."

"sheesh, I'm just trying to make conversation." Said the Joker innocently, yet with smirk.

He knew she didn't like him.

Surprisingly the Joker didn't say anything more, his attention shifted to Aaron Cash and Sean McQuaid, sizing them up.

"We forgot to sign in." Harleen handed her a clipboard.

Joan was confused, she had signed a plethora of papers before they even walked through the automatic doors and she really doubted the hospital administrators would let them forget about signing anything after all the noise they were making about bringing the Joker here in the first place. Not that Joan blamed them or wanted to bring the Joker here anymore then they did. This hospital wasn't set up to detain people as Arkham was. He might decide to take advantage of that.

Still she signed her name under Harleen's and when she was done Harleen took the forgotten forms to Sean, then Aaron, and even to…

"Sign it, whatever your name is." Her tone still making it clear she was not in the mood for games.

Harleen sat down beside the Joker. Aaron moved closer and stood at his shoulder. His magic pencil trick was legendary.

The Joker gave them each a suspicious look as if they were the ones that couldn't be trusted before manually bending his broken fingers to grip the pen, Harleen was the one to suck back her breath in hiss and flinch. Before he got it set right or did more damage, she took the pen away from him.

"I s'pose I could sign it in blood." He said picking at the gauze. " Seems a little dramatic, even to me."

Harleen gave him back the pen, sliding it in to his left hand. A little known fact about the Joker was that he was ambidextrous.

The Joker looked around Aaron to Sean.

"McQuaid, like the Boston Bruins player" he tilted his head. "Is that Irish or Scottish?"

"Irish" answered Sean.

Harleen reached behind her as swiftly and slowly as old western cowboy, pulling out a digital thermometer. She kept it low at her side, keeping the Joker blind to it. For good reason, an even lesser known fact about the Joker was he absolutely hated having things put in his ear. This whole sign in thing was a distraction. Joan watched on in anticipation.

"Huh, and your last name's Cash? He looked up at Aaron. "Bet'cha get a lot of tail with that name."

Harleen chose that optimal moment to make her move. She couldn't get the jump on him though.

The Joker dodged Aaron, who made a grab for him. Harleen already had a hold on him and was pulled down on to the ground with him when the shackles around his feet tripped him up as the Joker tried to get to his feet.

Before either guard could do anything. Harleen was kneeling on the Joker's chest, like she was trying to brand a calf.

"Hold. The hell. Still," she growled, managing to get the thermometer in his ear.

This whole scene might have been comical on some level, if it wasn't the Joker.

The thermometer beeped after a surprisingly quick ten seconds. Harleen let him up and sat back on the conjoined chairs across from Joan, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. Underneath his Arkham uniform Aaron's muscles were tensed up in case the Joker went for revenge. He only glared at her, Harleen didn't even see it as she wrote down the recorded temperature. If Joan had done what Harleen had, she wouldn't have taken her eyes off him.

"Was that really so bad?" she asked.

"Besides being rape."

"Rape?"

"Yes, ear's are technically an orifice and you penetrated mine without my consent, ergo rape." he explained.

"Now that is dramatic." Harleen shook her head, the corner of her mouth twitched but at least she had the sense not to dare smile and risk provoking him. Joan had seen the bloody tail end of what happened when the Joker was provoked.

He retook his original seat, right next to Harleen.

_Get away from him right now, Harleen! _Joan tried to send a telepathic order, needless to say it failed to be transmitted.

The Joker put his head on Harleen's shoulder. She jolted but waved Aaron off when he went to grab him.

"What are you doing?" she asked calmly.

"I'm not making you uncomfor-ta-able, am I?"

"No you're not. But your neck is going to get sore."

"Naw, I am pretty comfy" He nuzzled up to her slightly. "You smell nice."

"Subtle, J. subtle." She rolled her eyes, unphased.

Both Aaron and Sean looked over at Joan with matching Should-we-do-something expressions. If Harleen said it was fine, there wasn't any reason too. Joan's unease about their closeness was going to make the wait go by even slower. Passive aggressive was not anywhere near the Joker's style. Striking back when everyone was calmed down was.

The same nurse from before came back over, more nervous now, she probably saw what happened recently, she did the rest of his vitals; blood pressure and heart rate with not so much as a word from him.

"I'm really sorry but um, our X-ray technician on call got caught up with a urgent case in ICU, " said the nurse softly, looking at the ground. "I don't know how long he'll be."

That could easily be a lie. Joan rubbed her forehead, trying to keep the anger she felt growing rapidly off her face at least. It was not this woman's fault and there was nothing anyone could do.

"That's fine." Said Joan.

"Could we get some gauze please?" Asked Harleen.

The Joker looked puzzled at his bandages, apparently not seeing anything wrong with how they use to be white, not gray and red.

"No problem, " the nurse said.

They went back to playing the waiting game. A familiar hum filled the silence. Joan grabbed her cell. Not all the texts were from Carter, one was from Andrea, which made Joan feel a little better.

_Carter - How long you going to be? _

_Andrea – How are things at the mad house? Want to do coffee tom? _

_Carter -? _

To Carter, she replied: _Xray tech held up, will be late. Sorry, I'll make it up to you._

To Andrea: _Mad as usual, Harleen is back so less then last week. I would love too, usual spot?_

Andrea was a drug rehabilitation therapist. She had an office at a private clinic downtown but she worked all over the city and was a familiar face around the asylum. She had met Harleen a couple of times, had even given her help with some drug research, even though it had been for the man that almost killed her. Joan probably held a bigger grudge against him then Andrea did.

It wasn't just because Andrea was more forgiving then she was. It was because what he did to Andrea wasn't personal, she was the victim of bad timing more then the Joker's victim. What Joan had seen him do to other doctors at the asylum, mentally crippling them or downright attacking them was personal. More then that Andrea was almost fully healed now and she didn't have to associate with him. Joan was getting emotionally torn open and she couldn't hide from him, couldn't even put him out of her mind most nights.

Bringing all this to the surface of her thoughts she couldn't help but feel more resentful towards the scarred, dark demon eyed man across from her.

_I sincerely hope that one night things go too far. _The thought sprung up from the most vindictive pit of her mind.

That one malicious wish of hers was the nightmare of the gentle woman sitting next to the Joker.

The drone of her phone distracted this raging thought. It was Andrea's reply; it hadn't even been minutes. Not a surprise, her sister lived on her phone.

_How is she doing? Give her my condolences. Bring her tomorrow if you/she wants to come, won't be able to make it down there until 1230. _

She studied Harleen. Her blue eyes were dead as if she had shut out the world. Joan read further into and felt guilty about feeling sorry for herself before, her problems weren't so bad. Harleen's mother had passed away due to cancer, Harleen had flown back home when the end was coming, she must have spent a lot of time in a hospitals lately, sitting here tonight, at another hospital, had to be hard for her.

With both thumbs she replied to Andrea. _She's holding on. Will definitely bring her. _

The nurse came back with more than the promised gauze, she also brought a roll of medical tape to keep it on. If it took that long to get gauze, Joan hated to think how long it was going to take get the x-ray done but having a new perspective it didn't bother her as much any more.

"Sit up," said Harleen, pushing him a little. The Joker didn't budge. "Come on, just for a couple minutes. I promise "

He raised his hand near her face.

"Aaron" said Harleen.

Aaron was more than ready and willing to pull him off.

"Now a little to the left" she said. "Thanks."

Aaron slid the Joker sideways to face Harleen. The Joker was more amused about how slippery the upholstery then mad about being manhandled.

"No problem." Said Aaron.

Harleen started tearing away the old bandages. Revealing two swollen, dark and lacerated fingers. They both stared intently, heads bent downward, at them while she cleaned off the blood that had been constantly oozing.

"Tell me if I start hurting you." She held a piece of gauze in place while pulling the tape around it.

Considering that he had been trying to straighten those fingers before and he had broken them in the first place, there was hardly a danger of Harleen hurting him.

"Well you did-" he started.

"Don't even start about the ear rape."

"That's not what I was going to say but glad you agree. My chest is sore from you sitting on it."

"What can I say, I learned from the best."

"Second best. If I taught you, you'd of put your knee here," the Joker poked her abdomen. "It makes it harder for them to push themselves up if you're squishing organs instead of sitting on bones."

As he usually did, the Joker used his hands almost as much as his mouth when he talked, making taping the gauze around his fingers difficult for Harleen.

"They're going to have to take it off." Joan reminded Harleen as she pulled some medical tape off to straighten it out.

"Oh yeah. Guess I shouldn't have bothered" said Harleen sheepishly.

"No, it was definitely worth it just to put clean ones on," said Joan to make her feel less embarrassed. She wouldn't have gone to the trouble though.

Silence settled in their little waiting room. Joan couldn't think of anything to say, she wanted to ask Harleen how she was doing but for obvious reasons she couldn't in front of the Joker. He could not know or have the slightest hint that Harleen was going through a tough time.

Harleen had kept her word to the Joker and allowed him to lean up against her again. They both looked perfectly at ease. Everything that had happened between them had been forgiven.

"By the way, how is your knee?" the Joker broke the silence, prodding the area in question.

Joan felt like she was missing something. Had he done something to Harleen's knee?

"Its good."

"Its this one right?"

"Yes"

"It looks funny"

"You can't see ligament damage on the outside. You knew because that's the one I'll limp on."

It was small talk.

"You can tell a lot about a person by how they walk," a smirk slowly crawled up his face, particularly unhindered by the scars. "I also know how you'd be in bed"

"Stop being perverted, its not a good color on you." Harleen told him.

"Better then this orange."

The Joker moved to rest his chin right up on her shoulder. Harleen didn't even flinch.

"You should get a xray too, maybe we could get a two for one deal." He licked his lips, his movements had slowed Joan noticed. " I probably have better health care coverage then you."

Someone chuckled. Their benefits were sad.

"Thanks for the concern but I'm fine."

"I'm not concerned." He said, a tad bit defensive.

"You were pretty concerned that time you thought I was pregnant."

Joan held back a laugh. She remembered Harleen telling that story.

She checked her phone. There was no reply from Carter; Joan wasn't going to hold her breath. Unless she sent another message, they were done talking for the night. She started a couple of messages to him but would clear them and start over.

While Joan tried to write a message that wasn't pathetic groveling for forgiveness for something beyond her control or just plain hostel, she caught the main portion of the conversation going on around her. Since the Joker had brought up the Boston Bruins earlier, Sean and Aaron had started talking about hockey, and Harleen and the Joker joined in, both with surprising knowledge about the subject. The conversation split off, Sean and Aaron started talking about hunting, the Joker and Harleen had a nonsensical conversation chock full of private jokes, only they could understand.

They ran out of things to talk about around the hour and a half mark of their wait, so they played Where's Waldo to pass time.

"There he is." The Joker said about every three to five minutes.

"Why is everything frickin' red and white?" Harleen cursed after her fifth consecutive loss.

"Its in Soviet Russia, they have to buy – wait a minute" the Joker pulled the page up toward him and squinted. "That clown is not wearing clothes."

"What?" Harleen exclaimed.

She looked where he was tapping the page.

"I'm offended." The Joker said.

"Maybe that's how it is in Soviet Russia," said Harleen, resuming her search for Waldo. "Maybe clowns don't wear clothes there."

"This is a children's book," he pointed out, for lack of another word, disturbed.

"You can't see anything"

"Why are you looking?"

"There he is" Harleen changed the subject.

"No, Waldo is over here," again he tapped the page, Harleen's excitement fell away.

"That's Herrraldo." The Joker rolled his r's.

Harleen glared at him before turning the page, whistling some little tune.

"ssshhhhhhh" he hit her mouth in a discombobulated movement. "You're making the angels cry."

Harleen nearly started crying, she was laughing so hard.

Another hour passed by. She still hadn't messaged Carter. Her eyes were starting to get sore from looking at the little waiting cursor.

Joan surveyed everyone; Sean had sat down at the end of Joan's row, Aaron had remained standing but was leaning against the wall, the Joker had pulled his legs up on the chairs so that he was lying down and he was still resting his head on Harleen, the sedatives were really starting to take effect now, he wasn't saying much and when he did it was slurred and he would more often then not drop the end of the sentence completely.

Another twenty minutes passed, the Joker hadn't moved or talked, he was definitely out and there wasn't any sign of the nurse or any hospital staff member, guess there was a real emergency after all.

Joan checked her email, she had a new one from Hugo Strange, sent two minutes ago.

"Strange just sent me a email." Joan shared.

"Tell him no" said Harleen.

"Yeah and I'll say Harleen said so."

"And then say you know why"

Joan saw Aaron yawn which made her yawn, which made Harleen yawn.

"What time is it?" asked Harleen.

"Almost one" Aaron answered, looking at his watch.

"What is he even doing up?" asked Harleen. "What is he Batman?"

She said the magic word to raise sleeping beauty. The Joker lifted his head, eyes flicked groggily around the room as if he thought Batman was actually there. Learning he wasn't, he put his head back down, only get back up and rub Harleen's arm with an exaggerated frown.

"Sorry Harley" he slurred.

"Don't worry about it" Harleen said, "I've had much worse."

Joan guessed that the Joker had drooled on her arm while he was sleeping.

Harleen put her arm around him and patted his shoulder absent-mindedly. The Joker, on the other hand, was very mindful of the action, looking at her hand with wide-eyed expression, like he had never encountered that before, it was strangely sweet.

"Uh, Doctor Quinzel?"

"Yeah" said Harleen, surprised at being addressed by her proper title.

That had to be some kind of honor. Joan didn't think she had ever heard the Joker call any of his past psychiatrists doctor before. She had just heard him call her Harley.

"I'm not going to have to take my pants off, I'm I?" He asked.

"No, I'm sure you can keep your clothes on." She cast her eyes down at him in a conspiring way. "We aren't in Soviet Russia."

"Good" he muttered before going back to sleep.

They ended up waiting a total of three hours for the x-ray. But after that things moved quickly, it took no time to stitch and splint his fingers.

Joan and Harleen had each taken their own vehicles so when it was all done they could go home. Sean and Aaron would escort the Joker back to Arkham.

Just before the three parties parted ways in the lobby, before either guard could do anything, the Joker slipped his arms around Harleen.

After the initial panic, Joan realized that he was just hugging her.

The mental image stayed with her as solid as any photograph she had seen. It reminded her a lot of the famous photograph _V-J Day in Time Square. _

The contrast between the orange of his uniform and her doctor's coat was sharp. As was the contrast between their expressions; the Joker looked dopey; his eyes were half closed with a sloppy grin across his face whereas Harleen's eyes were vibrantly alert with a bright smile, a natural one instead of the forced ones Harleen had been putting on. A long lost one that Joan had not seen on her in awhile.

Joan thought about that embrace as she drove home. It had to be the drugs, the Joker looked to be akin to drunk near the end and he was acting like it too. However there was something bugging her about the whole night.

The Joker could get into the troubled spots of peoples minds when the door was shut and guarded, it would easy for him to see how vulnerable Harleen was tonight, if he hadn't saw this afternoon during their first therapy session in two weeks. But instead of doing what would be expected of him to do with this insight, the Joker had done the unexpected and out of character. He had cheered her up.

Harleen had been withdrawn for days, Jeremiah wouldn't let her see the Joker for the first few days because of it but it had been the Joker had coaxed her out of the shadows she was trapped in.

Joan remember how he got her laughing so hard with the inside joke about crying angels. How Harleen had went back to that withdrawn state when the Joker stopped fighting sleep. Was he fighting it for her?

And at the end of the night, after he hugged her, the transformation was complete. Blushing and smiling Harleen looked like herself.

This was a strategic choice on his part, further twisting Harleen, even heavily under the influence of drugs the Joker could still manipulate people, signaling how dangerous he was.

Joan wouldn't have an idea about why he made that choice out till later.

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you for reading (this was a long one), subscribing and faving.

SmilinForYa: There is no such thing as a meaningless review. I loved hearing from you and getting your feedback. And I hope the Joker was able to redeem himself for hurting Harley

References: _V-J Day in Time Square, _you've probably seen it, its pretty famous, it's a black and white photo of a sailor kissing a nurse in 1945.

The nudist clown in a Where's Waldo book exists, I didn't make that up. I will put up the link to the demotivational picture on my profile page in the section for this story soon, its not on my laptop.

Aaron Cash is from Batman: Arkham Asylum video game

McQuaid was a name I found in the graphic novel Batman: Hush, (yay I finally have time to read things that weren't assigned), happenstance was that its also the name of a Boston Bruins player while they were facing my hockey team for the Stanley Cup.

This was getting long again, so it's an officially a 2 parter, chapter 11 is on its own. I'll wrap it up in the next update, and then go back to before T.O.D.

I want to leave you with a quote I read today on twitter just before I started this

"Generally speaking, the main POV character in a story should be the one most affected by the plot events"

In this story many characters have been affected in some way


	13. Indistinguishable, Part II

_15 minutes after T.O.D  
_

* * *

Joan silently closed the door to the infirmary behind her.

Across the room Harleen was folding bed sheets with Christa and Ann, the daytime nurses. Harleen nodded her head in greeting, resorting back to forcing smiles, when she saw Joan.

"Hey Harleen, I'm going to meet Andrea for coffee, do you want to come?" asked Joan.

"I can't" Harleen shook her head. "As soon as I leave Doctor Simon will sedate J. He's having a severe reaction to the sedatives from last night, he can't have any other drugs until those ones are out of his system."

"Doctor Simon won't be back until two" Ann piped up.

The Joker must be pretty sick if Ann wasn't worried about him.

"That still leaves Doctor Wyatt. I'm sure he wouldn't if I asked nicely but I really can't risk it."

Joan knew from the sadness in her voice and look that she wore to match that Harleen was blaming herself for this.

"I'm going to go for smoke, be back in a few." Said Harleen, as she finished folding the sheet in her hand.

"How long as she been here?" asked Joan.

"Ever since nine. Her and Doctor Simon got in to a screaming match." Said Christa, always the gossiper. "Doctor Arkham had to come down here."

That wasn't like Harleen. She never hesitated to argue and she may not say her point gently if she disagreed but she never raised her voice to do so.

The silent consensus around the pile of laundry was that Joan should go talk to Harleen.

There were a few places on the grounds where Harleen would go for a smoke break; Joan knew her favorite spot was at end of the west wing. Sure enough she was leaning against a rusting guardrail, looking down at the channel that roped off the Narrows.

The turbulent waters she was watching matched the mood Joan felt coming off of Harleen.

"Remember after the Joker attacked you, I said I didn't want to see you get hurt," started Joan, "I didn't mean that just physically. All this stress you place on yourself when blame yourself for things like this is not good for you. You should know that."

She took a long drag on her cigarette before responding.

"I'm not. Well not entirely. Doctor Simon, that bastard, hid the information sheet on Tryphentol from me because he knew I wouldn't have allowed it if I knew it had a similar compound to Navane, which the Joker reacted terribly too."

"Doctor Simon didn't hide it." Joan confessed, "I did".

"Why am I not surprised," Harleen muttered to herself.

She blew smoke up in to the sky, the wind snatched it away as it spread the clouds across sky at an eye detection able rate. Joan watched them sail by; it was always rainy and gloomy this time of year in Gotham.

"Why'd you go behind my back when you could've just overruled me?" asked Harleen.

Joan had expected her actions to be questioned; she hadn't expected that question though. In it Harleen had acknowledged that she was powerless. Joan knew from personal experience it was a step in the direction of giving up all together.

It was bittersweet. Harleen would be far less trouble when she admitted defeat. But then again this headstrong, hell-bent attitude of hers was admirable, more then that it had begun to give Joan hope that things at the asylum could change because someone was determined on changing them.

"What would it matter if I pulled rank on you, the outcome would be exactly the same?"

"Maybe. Or maybe by giving me a chance to share what I know about the Joker's drug history and what his probable reaction to Tryphentol would be, would've given you something to think about, could have maybe even made you change your mind." Explained Harleen lightly. As if she was talking about something she didn't feel so strongly about.

She tapped the ashes off the end of her cigarette.

"And that's why you did all this sneaking about instead of confronting me because you knew I would tell you something you didn't want to hear, " said Harleen.

The coldness in her eyes, the condescending tone in her voice. Joan almost thought she was talking to Jonathan Crane.

"Because then you could be accountable for the pain the Joker is in now, and you wouldn't be able to deny what you knowingly chose to do, to what you have to grudgingly admit is another human being."

Instead of calmly saying she could understand why Harleen was angry with her for going behind her back. Joan said what was exactly on her mind.

"I doubt anything you could have told me beforehand could've made me change my mind. The Joker needed to be heavily sedated or else there would have been bloodshed and if he is the one who pays the price, I'd say it's the best possible outcome."

Joan knew that she was proving Harleen right but now she started she couldn't stop. Her feelings had been pent up for too long; last nights thoughts at the hospital were a break in the dam.

"Only by technicality can he be considered a person. Take in to account his crimes since looking into those eyes is not enough proof for you. There is nothing human about the Joker."

They had both had straightened out, standing away from the rail, feet apart from each other, one thousand miles apart in their minds.

"And your delusional, naïve inability to accept that he is a monster is only going to get someone killed. Before that inevitably happens you better think long and hard about if you would be able to live with yourself and if you come to the right conclusion, you'd resign as his psychiatrist right now because you are in over your head."

Harleen looked as if Joan had slapped her. Harleen needed to hear that though.

"I wouldn't worry about me, if I were you right now. I know what I'm doing; you're the one who hasn't thought about what you've done. By purposely hurting the Joker" she paused to finish off her cigarette before flicking the butt into the canal. "You've blurred the line that separates you from people like him."

Now of course Joan and Harleen had fought in the past. But this was different. This was a new side of Harleen. This was her barring her teeth. This was her getting mean.

_How could she put me in the same league as him? _Thought Joan in outrage.

Harleen had never walked away from a fight before. But she walked away then, leaving Joan shaking with anger.

What Harleen had said stayed with her the whole afternoon. No matter how much she tried to suppress it at the back of her mind while she sipped her espresso and listened to Andrea talk about adopting a cat, those final lines nagged and nagged at her.

The reason Harleen's words had shocked and stung her was that Joan felt that they hit some point of truth. She hid the sheet because she didn't want to fight with Harleen and for no other reason then that so she had not intentionally tried to hurt the Joker. But…

_I sincerely hope one night things go too far. _Echoed over from last night.

Joan couldn't help but wonder if she was blurring a line that divided humans from monsters.

By the end of the day she still hadn't reached a conclusion. Wrestling with the question all afternoon left Joan mentally exhausted. She stacked her paperwork neatly by her computer monitor where it would stay until first thing tomorrow morning. It was getting late anyway.

Instead of pressing the M button in the elevator, Joan hit the 3 and stared at its red light up form as the elevator moved down to the assigned destination. She almost didn't walk out when the doors slid back to reveal the faded teal walls of the third floor; she almost hit the M button. Even though it was tempting she didn't. She wasn't going to sneak around this time.

Joan got out of the elevator and walked down the hallway. Her hand closed around the door handle of the door that read INFIRMARY for the second time that day and she shut it behind her as quietly as she did before.

The lights were dimmed, the ward looked smaller in the dark. Joan walked down the center of the room, her heels small clicks giving her presence there away. There would be no turning back now

Harleen's eyes locked on to her before Joan caught of sight her, sitting by the Joker's bedside.

"Hello, Doctor Leland." Said Harleen.

Joan had not come here to confront Harleen; she didn't come to apologize to her either. She still believed that Harleen needed to hear what she told her. Joan had come to confront her feelings toward him. Perhaps she would get a sign that she wasn't a monster.

The Joker was flushed, the scar tissue that ran across his face, from ear to ear stood out more then normal. Joan had never seen his Chelsea grin that distinctly before, even though they were scars, they actually looked painful. His eyelids flickered constantly, other then that and the occasional throws of his head, he didn't move.

She had never seen the Joker look or act so human but it didn't do much to change how she felt about him.

_Am I really that cruel? _Joan asked herself.

"Could you do me a favor, just listen to his heart for a minute? " Harleen handed Joan a stethoscope. "I'm worried there's something I'm not catching. Don't worry he's completely out."

Joan took the stethoscope from her, she brushed her hair behind her ears before putting in the ends. Reluctantly she put the chest piece on the Joker's chest, they had stripped him of his shirt and possible more, to no doubt try and cool him down. She could feel heat radiating from his skin under her hand.

_Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. _

It wasn't irregularly fast, or irregularly slow, it didn't skip or squeak. It was steady, normal heartbeat.

"Sounds fine," said Joan.

"Yeah, sounds like a regular heartbeat." Said Harleen softly. "As indistinguishable as mine is from yours or anyone else's."

She looked Joan straight in the eye, not in the cold way she had when they last talked. Harleen's eyes were pleading with her to listen.

"I'm not telling you this to pick a fight with you or to be spiteful in anyway. I'm telling you so maybe you'll understand – so maybe someone in this place will understand- why I fight so hard for him. Why I'm always going to fight for him."

Joan got a glimpse of what Harleen saw, or rather what she didn't see. Harleen truly didn't see the marred terrorist that everyone else did and she never would because she only heard that heartbeat. Through that universal sound, Harleen saw him as a human being who was as susceptible to discomfort and pain as anyone else. To her that was all that mattered.

Maybe being naïve wasn't so bad if it enabled Harleen to see what she did.

"You're going to stay here all night, aren't you?" Joan phrased it as a question, but she already knew the answer.

"Yes."

It wasn't only the Joker that was paying the price. Harleen had thrown all her chips into the same pot months ago.

Harleen patted the Joker's forehead with a damp cloth. His eyes snapped open when her hand moved down near his brow. They were hazy with fever.

"Hey, its just me. Go back to sleep now." Whispered Harleen.

He started giggling when she started dabbing his neck, which evolved into full on laughter when she moved beyond his neck, down to around his collarbone.

"ssssshhhhhh, J. ssshh sshhh sshhh" Harleen tried in vain.

He only got louder as she moved lower.

Over the sounds his laughter, someone started screaming, in this place it was an everyday occurrence, still an already on edge Joan jumped out of her skin at the suddenness, Harleen just cringed. Chantal, the night nurse rushed by with a pointed glare at either Harleen or her hysterical patient, probably both.

Once she stopped, the Joker quieted with disappointment. He had enjoyed that sponge bath, even Joan couldn't find a sick reason behind that, he was burning up, and wanted some repeat action as he tried to give the cloth back to Harleen, who refused to take it.

"No, other people are trying to sleep now. You should try too."

He responded with a very vocal moan and a death throe.

"All right, quit your bitchin,'" said Harleen, too tired and concerned to sound annoyed. She took the cloth back from him and put it on the side table, next to a pill bottle she picked up. "Only if you take some aspirin."

She held out two pills, which he swatted out of her hand. It had become so eerily quiet in the ward again, that Joan heard the pills hit the floor. Harleen rattled two more into her hand and offered them to him. Slowly the Joker reached out and grabbed them out of her hand.

"Oww" shrieked Harleen.

"What happened?" asked Joan.

"He jammed my ring into my finger."

She massaged her fingers with her other hand and leaned back in her chair. The Joker stared at the two aspirin tablets, and then looked around for a place to put them, he decided to put them under his pillow.

Joan could see him doing that in a healthy state but he'd have some comment about it.

Awake, the Joker looked worse; his skin was glazed with sweat, he was tossing and turning and panting from exerting all that energy moving around.

Still Joan couldn't find the smallest amount of pity for him. She had stayed here thus far to see if she would eventually be sympathetic toward him. If she listened to his heart now, it would be beating irregularly fast. But that wouldn't matter to her.

Since that mattered to Harleen, she was looking beside herself with anguish.

"I'll be right back," said Harleen, walking off with no other explanation, sock feet allowed her to move almost silently so Joan didn't have a clue as to where she was going. Without shoes though ruled out a smoke break.

She came back one minute later with an IV bag. She hung it on overlooked stand. Joan could see a trickle of blood had run down her hand from the Joker had jammed her ring.

"He's been dehydrated all day but refuses to drink water," explained Harleen, while connecting tube to end part already taped to the Joker's hand. "He wasn't happy about having both his hands taped up."

"You better hope that comes out." Harleen addressed him now. The Joker had smeared the blood from her hand on to her white coat.

Instead of returning to her post, the chair by his bed. Harleen sat on the edge of it and picked the damp cloth off the table.

"We have to get your fever down somehow."

Instantly the Joker stopped moving and lay on his back expectantly.

_You manipulative prick_ thought Joan.

All that squirming and slithering was for show, more of a tantrum than actual suffering.

The Joker was quiet while Harleen patted him down. Without his laughter it was intimate moment.

Neither one of them took any notice of her watching. She couldn't help it. Joan was mesmerized by it.

There was something deeper then an obligation to do right by her patient that compelled Harleen to do everything she had done for the Joker.

It was love.

* * *

The Joker had marked Harleen with her own blood. Joan was close to being sick when she remembered that haunting detail from the night in the infirmary.

Reflecting had placed the pieces together.

That was what that hug in the hospital lobby was all about. The Joker had been reciprocating the affection that Harleen had been showing him to win her over.

GCN started to recap Harleen's story again. Playing recycled footage from the Square, her thankfully covered body lying in the background, two policemen shuffling with their backs turned away as police tape waved in foreground.

This was the intended result of that sinister reciprocation.

She didn't pay much attention as to what Mike Engel was saying. He was saying only the known facts. Joan had a better insight in to this.

"_The man was in a padded cell, what could he possibly do?" _

Harleen wasn't afraid of the Joker. Therefore he couldn't bully her in to helping him. Naturally he found something else to exploit, perhaps something even better, her ability to love.

Joan never hated someone more in her entire life then she hated the Joker right then.

The Joker had taken the most beautiful thing about Harleen and used it to destroy her.

* * *

Author's note: "Baby Its 3 am, I must be lonely." No seriously it 3 am

SmilinForYa: Thank You for your generous review, I always get warm fuzzies for a while after I read them. I updated for just for you.

In parting; hope I didn't cheese you all out with the ability to love.

Thank you for reading, subscribing and faving.

-Delta9


	14. Terrified and Hostile

_9 days before T.O.D  
_

* * *

Stewing was an appropriate description for what Harleen had been doing for the past couple days. Sitting around for hours on end, marinating in cigarette smoke, general filth and self-pity. Even if stewing did make her sound like a piece of meat, it was better then the alternative description, which was sadly a more accurate one. Harleen was wallowing.

Wallowing, she despised the word, it sounded so degrading and pathetic. She despised it because it fit her life perfectly.

Here she was on the edge of another evening, lying on her couch in a baggy old t-shirt dusted with powdered cheese from the bag of Cheeto's she had had for dinner, staring at the oddly colored green wall that was a little lighter then all the others, thinking about how her job at the asylum was the only thing she had really had in her life.

Aside from going out with her co-workers for drinks, she never had no other plans or commitments outside of work and she had been much too busy to have a relationship. Despite what her neighbors now thought, Harleen was very much alone.

A potent state of panic had settled for good in her chest and often gripped her strongly to the point of hyperventilation and nausea when she was doing nothing. It wasn't so much about being jobless and unemployable or soon to be homeless. Harleen had the feeling that something bad was going to happen to her.

Harleen pulled herself off her couch and went in to her bedroom to find something to read before she had panic attack.

She had finished _The Lucky One _yesterday afternoon and now it sat on her bookshelf by _Dear John, _which she had planned afterward. Harleen had made it her goal to read every single Nicholas Sparks book ever written, but right now she could not deal with reading a romance, she wanted a distraction, not a reminder of what she didn't have.

Harleen didn't find a novel she wanted to start, she was probably bored with reading, just desperate for a means of distraction. She caught a glimpse of herself in the vanity mirror as she started back to the living room to watch TV.

Harleen looked awful. Her hair was knotted and stringy, she grabbed a hairbrush and started combing it out. While she did she noticed every other imperfection: she had a small breakout of zits along her jaw line, the skin around her eyes was puffy and pink and the rest of her face was pasty. Looking in the mirror made her feel an over due sense of grunginess, Harleen also became aware of the fact that she smelled.

She pulled the skunky, cheese flavored, Calvin and Hobbes t-shirt over her head, kicked off her faded yellow boy shorts and hopped into the shower. What could be classified as neurotically she scrubbed herself down, going over every part of herself twice.

When Harleen was done, she felt a little bit better. She wiped away the steam that had settled on the mirror, making a window to her reflection whom still looked sad. She could be good looking if she only put some time in to herself.

After she was done blow-drying it, Harleen ran strands of her blonde hair through with the flat iron. Her hair was longer then she expected it would turn out, her bangs had really grown out, if she brushed them over to one side, they would cover up her eye. She had mysterious stranger bangs, just like she always wanted when she was six years old. Twenty years down the road, she wanted a haircut. She pinned her bangs on top of her head and finished up with some product to give it some volume and aside from the over grown length her hair looked good; clean and cared for, looking out of place on her head compared to the rest of her body. That wouldn't do.

To her right was a drawer filled with cosmetics, she slide it open and grabbed foundation to mask the zits. As she added a little blush to give her some needed color, Harleen began to feel creative.

Inside the drawer was a hardly used liquid eyeliner, She traced the bottom of her eyes with it, leaving a bit of a flared up tail in the corner. She covered her eyelids with silver eye shadow and just for kicks added little rhinestones, which was near impossible, next to her tear ducts.

The last thing she applied was her favorite ruby red lipstick.

Harleen took in the big picture of her work, as an artist looks at their masterpiece and smiled. Her reflection smiled back at her devilishly.

While the plushy towel she had draped around herself was comfy, it didn't suit her mood and took away from her work. She padded back to her bedroom to find something to wear.

She slide back the hangers in her closet one by one. A black and red corset type top hung near the back, it was a impulse, its one sale buy that she hadn't had the opportunity to wear and until now forgot she had it. Harleen plucked it out of the closet, unsure whether to try it on or not. It looked small and if it didn't fit, it would ruin her good mood and push her back into frumpy clothes and the couch.

She unfastened the lace at the back while her conscious reminded her of her new diet and chided:

_If it doesn't fit I'm not going to feel sorry for you_.

It felt snug. Since Harleen had dared to put it on, she may as well look in the mirror. If anything it would motivate her to go for a jog in the near future.

The prognosis was good; the little corset was tight in all the right places, it made her boobs look great. If there was one thing Harleen didn't like about her body it was that her breasts were on the small side. The only slight perk was that they weren't much of a hassle when it came gymnastics, not like she had done that in years though.

She put on her favorite pair of black booty shorts and a thick belt to tie the ensemble together.

The only flaw was the bandages around her wrists. Harleen had swapped out the paper towel for sleeker, flesh tone band-aids, but they were still such an eye sore to her.

Inside her jewelry box, she found two gaudy leather wristbands left over from her youth. They went unbelievably well with her outfit.

She joyously posed in front of the mirror.

_Harleen, you are a stone cold fox. _

Her heart swelled with pride. Harleen no longer looked like she was wallowing. She looked tough and edgy. Harleen felt tough and edgy.

She grabbed her evening clutch from its spot on her bedpost and threw her cell phone, visa card, a good wad of cash, favorite lipstick and driver's license in it.

Harleen was going out tonight.

No fear spoke up as it had done when she went to get groceries. She was through with being afraid.

She took one last look at herself before she left. The bobby pins plucked out a few hairs in protest as she pulled them out. She brushed them down to the side, so they only partly cover her eye. They looked better down.

_Could she be Harley again?  
_

* * *

Bruce sat in the brightly light temporary bat cave staring, more like straining to look at several computer monitors. All of them displayed police reports from the hacked GCPD database about the Joker's past crimes and other bits of known information about him.

He felt a small sense of déjà vu looking over all this again and that bled into thinking about the way things use to be; Batman wasn't hunted, at least not as bad, by the police, there was a glimmer of hope for Gotham, a chance that one day Bruce could be with Rachel and the Joker was small time game.

The Joker had grown out of that classification fast. Everything happened fast with him, once he started, it would already be too late to prevent bloodshed because the Joker would start with bloodshed. That was why it was crucial he had to be found and locked away, Batman could not let that happen again.

His eyes growing wearier, he took the one of the screen off the police database to the GCN website.

In the top news stories in the center of the page, there was picture of Harleen Quinzel looking over her shoulder, appearing to be staring at the Joker's mug shot, which was in the corner.

_What She's Looking At. _Read the title.

With a small _click _Bruce opened it.

"While the Joker himself never stood trial, his alleged accomplice Doctor Harleen Quinzel will." A video of Summer Gleeson started.

This was news to Bruce. He knew that Harleen was going to meet with the board of Arkham Asylum to determine if she would serve as a psychiatrist at the asylum

"-details about the Joker's escape from the asylum are still being kept under wraps-"

Bruce knew how he escaped, it didn't do much to prove or disprove Harleen's innocence.

With this case you had to know the people behind it. Bruce knew how manipulative the Joker could be, he also knew on how much Harleen cared for him.

Did he really know enough about her after one date to convict her?

No he didn't. However Jeremiah Arkham, Joan Leland, Hugo Strange and a couple other Arkham employees that had been interrogated by the police had all been saying the same thing

"-An inside source has told us her trial could start as early as next week so soon it will be made public what was done to unleash a murderer. For GCN news I'm Summer Gleeson."

Next week. That wasn't nearly enough time to build a case for either prosecution or defense.

Bruce skimmed the article to see if there was an explanation as to why the trial was being held so soon. He didn't find the answer in the article; he found it in the comments section below.

"_About time someone in this city went to court." _

A dozen other similar comments came after it.

Harleen's trial was for show. It wasn't for justice; it was to placate the citizens of Gotham.

Citizens of Gotham had gotten a taste of how things could be in the city when he had become Batman and when Harvey Dent was elected as DA. They had been given hope. That hope hadn't died with Harvey Dent. Batman ensured that. However, that hope had been scarred, people had become increasingly angrier with Batman and everything else. Deep down they were afraid that Gotham was going to take a nosedive down to the corrupt, criminal-breeding city it had been before.

The Joker's escape made an already scared, hostile crowd a terrified one. A dangerous combination.

Harleen was only being placed on the stand to show the people of Gotham that something was being done. Even if they didn't have anything on her, it would calm the mob on the brink of violence.

Bruce put the monitors on sleep mode. He began the tedious task of placing plates of Kevlar. The last thing he did before he smeared kohl greasepaint around his eyes. He hoped with all his heart that no where in the city was the Joker doing the same.

* * *

Alcohol hits your head first. Harleen was beginning to feel that first symptom of lightheadedness as she sat along the wall at the club, sipping her rum and coke. She hadn't been there very long but had taken a shot of tequila when she first walked in, to speed up the process.

As a psychiatrist she knew this sort of behavior was unhealthy but Harleen was beyond caring at this point if she was self-destructing. It felt damn good.

The D.J started playing what she initially thought was a remix of Bon Jovi's "Runaway", it was actually a mash-up with Fort Minor's "Remember The Name". Its beat wasn't made for the bump and grind that was the dance at clubs.

A group of doubtfully legal girls stood at the edges of the empty floor obviously eager to dance but did not want to be the only ones.

Harleen downed the last of her drink and left the empty, perspiring glass on the sticky table.

She wasn't self-conscious and she wasn't going to be club dancing.

With a one handed round off that she barely landed, she introduced herself to the middle of dance floor. Then she took over it, utilizing every square inch of unoccupied space as she danced. An archive of hip-hop moves that her memory had stored in the back of her mind, her body had not forgotten how to use them even though it had been years.

Her performance attracted an audience, which she took note of but didn't care about. Her pace was giving her a runner's high.

In a series of sharp, tight spins Harleen crossed the floor.

She was free, unchained from all her problems, worries and fears. She wasn't going to let herself be beaten down again. She was the one in control.

Harleen had made her dizzy and hit the railing at the edge of the dance floor.

Applause and a few wolf-whistles was what Harleen received when the mash-up ended. She accepted it with a low graceful bow that was pulled from her shorter ballet repertoire.

Another song started, a typical dub-step song, and Harleen went back to dancing.

She was unstoppable.

Gradually the dance floor began to fill, leaving Harleen with a little less space with each passing song. She surrendered her plot of land by the corner to go replenish her fluids.

A younger male, too much booze making him bold, took the opportunity to approach her.

"You're beautiful and a dancer." He shouted over the loud music. "I mean you're a beautiful dancer. And you're beautiful too."

She knew it didn't mean anything, but it had been so long since someone had been said anything nice to her. Harleen kissed him on the cheek in response. Her brazenness startled her admirer.

"Do you want a dance?" he asked.

"Buy me a drink, I don't give it up for free." She responded.

"Aha. I like you. What's your name?"

Without thinking she said.

"Call me Harley."

* * *

The Docks.

With the imports of drugs and arms, organized crime started here.

Batman wasn't here for the illegal shipments.

It was the drudges of society that hung around them. Potential recruits.

Whatever the Joker was going to do. He would need manpower to do it. This place would be a good place to start a sign-up.

Batman was not under the impression that the Joker would make an appearance here, looking for employees himself. That would be delusional. He'd send someone and that someone would be the connection Batman needed to close in on the Joker.

He set up surveillance on a rooftop across from The Rising Sun, a sketchy bar with an infamous reputation. And like any other hunter he waited patiently.

A bar patron tottered out and began to relieve himself in the alley. On the shorter side and stocky, right shoulder was heavily tattooed. The tattoos were what Batman recognized. He was one of the party crashers at Harvey's fundraiser.

Bingo.

He glided across the street and in between the buildings. His boot connected with the thug's head, knocking him down. Before he could get back up or figure out what hit him. Batman hauled him up by the front of his shirt and pressed him hard up against the brick wall. The tips of his feet barely touched the trash-laden ground

"I only want to ask this once." He snarled. "Where is the Joker?"

"Wha- I don't know."

"You're working for him, you know one location." He pressed the tips of his gauntlet into the thug's stomach.

"Ahh-use to. I use to work for him." He stammered. "I haven't seen him since he was taken to the loony bin."

There was no tells that the thug was lying. Batman knew that he wouldn't be a good liar.

"I don't think anyone has seen him."

* * *

Harley made her way around the dance floor. From one guy to the next, trading dances for drinks.

They all filled her ears with empty compliments. Maybe they didn't care or maybe because of the lack of light, they couldn't see her for who she was.

Her latest catch put his hand down the side of her shirt. Harley tolerated groping but only if they stayed on the outside of her clothes. His friendly hands crawled slowly down her back. She grabbed his arm and removed it as she spun around to face him.

'I have ta go to the bathroom." She said, putting space in between them.

They parted ways.

In five seconds he forgot all about her.

Harley didn't even pretend to go in the direction of the washrooms.

Even along the perimeter she bumped into people. There was absolutely no room for her to be by herself anymore. Everyone was vacuumed packed, congealed in one massive moving clump. A clothed orgy.

She let herself be swallowed up by it.

* * *

The night was coming to a close and Batman was no closer to finding the Joker then he was at the beginning of it. Which meant he was one day closer to the Joker throwing the city into another fiery state of chaos.

A woman was standing at the seawall, looking out. Petite and blonde. When he saw her face as she turned and started walking along it. He recognized her instantly.

The one everyone was talking about. Harleen Quinzel.

She was a long way from home.

_What is she doing out here so late? _He wondered. It was highly suspicious.

Batman shadowed her movements for the next hour. No one ever showed up.

Maybe she was suppose to meet the Joker, but word about Batman jumping that thug had spread around no doubt the area, forcing the Joker to call off the rendezvous.

If the Joker was still using this woman, Batman knew he wouldn't be using the same manipulation techniques he had to get her to spring him. That wouldn't work anymore; he'd be using force to control Harleen. She wouldn't be willing to helping him and would be desperate for a way out.

If that was the case, the Joker had made a mistake in neglecting to tell her their meeting was cancelled.

Batman came in wordlessly on her left. His sudden appearance spooked her and for a second he thought she was going to run.

"Hello Mistah tall and dark." Greeted Harleen, in a mock tone of pleasure.

She swayed in place as if the faint sea breeze coming in was enough to overpower her. It was obvious she had been drinking.

"Lemme guess you want to know where the Joker is?" She rolled her eyes. "It seems as long as everyone thinks I know his whereabouts I'll never be lonely."

For a second Batman thought she was going fall over. He put his arms out to catch her. Harleen fell over backwards when she jerked away from him. When he offered her a hand she slide back a bit, eyeing him apprehensively from the concrete.

While their meeting in parkade had been tame on his end, Batman hadn't given Harleen a reason to believe that he wouldn't hurt her. He felt bad about that.

He made no move to help her again. Harleen awkwardly got on to her feet.

"Tell me what you know." He said in a gentler tone.

"Why should I?" asked Harleen in a hostile growl.

She wrapped her arms around herself and shifted uncomfortably.

_She knows something. _

"I know you weren't here when the Joker tore up the city. But look at the aftermath; look at how terrified everyone is now. From that you can tell how dangerous he is. If you have the power to stop him before anything happens – "

"Exactly, if " she stressed. " And _If _ I could help the city, why would I after everything I've gone through."

Looking into her eyes made him remember the woman he once took out to dinner.

"_If you judge a fish on its ability to climb trees, it will believe its whole life that it's stupid." _

Maybe Harleen was so defensive not only because she was scared but also because of the way she had been treated lately. She could need to be told, no reminded of who she was.

"Because you are a good person, Harleen."

Harleen shook her head.

"You don't know me," she said softly.

* * *

Author's note: Thank you all for reading, subscribing and faving.

Extra Special **Thanks** to my reviewers (in the order they came in) :

PorterJ: I would like to apologize for the image on google, I googled it after your review and that was really gross. If there is any story I have ever written that has stood a chance of being finished it is this one. Thank you very much for stopping by and saying thanks. Oh and I watched Memento, good movie, little confusing but in a good way.

SmilinForYa: I couldn't help wonder what your favorite chapter was, yay now I know Thank you for the very positive feedback regarding the Joker in the last chapter, he is tricky to write. And just thank so much for all the compliments! I start smiling for ya before I even open the email.

Black Beloved: Thank you. Harley is one of my fav's too. She just always seemed like a tragic character to me because she's head over heels for a man who a) doesn't love, her back or b) is unable to expression that in a normal way.

Anonymous: Thank you, I love hearing continue this.

That last italicized quote is from Albert Einstein. Harleen is going to say it in the next chapter of Rubbing Shoulders to explain something to Bruce.

Harley's outfit is something like her most recent costume change for the Suicide Squad. I don't agree thats its a good outfit for her character but it is a good one for a night out.

And as far as the whole Harleen – Harley deal, wait for it, it's a good part of the story I promise you.


	15. Anniversary

_One Year After T.O.D_

* * *

At eleven thirty-eight pm, a young woman put a gun up to her temple and pulled the trigger.

Her neck snaps back as sharp as the single gunshot fired. Her body hits the ground.

No one knows when her eyes close.

They don't know about the scars on her wrists. Or that there is more of her blood staining her apartments carpet, dancing across a tile floor of a two bedroom bi-level and spilled on the floor of a warehouse eight blocks away. She was broken from the start.

A trial was to take place in only two days time. It is and will alway be to late now.

At eleven thirty-eight pm the chance to clear her name dies with her.

The hope to clear her name had died days before.

Tea light candles in glasses are then placed in the centre of the square, once her body is moved The rain will slowly extinguished all but one by dawn. Bouquets of flowers then follow.

He, himself, had left roses.

Beautiful and tragic just like her.

The vigil has been long cleared. Today there is only a simple marble plaque dedicated to the woman caught in the crosshairs of complete persecution without any evidence to warrant it. Written on it are the only words they can say about her.

_In Memory Of Dr. Harleen Quinzel._

* * *

_If you look up near the top of the screen, you will notice the published date and the updated date are the same. I had to post something but Failing with the next installment. I like this better for the anniversary._


	16. Recollections of a Past Life

_8 days before T.O.D  
_

* * *

Her hand rested on her desk with a black uni-ball pen tucked between her fingers. Not only was the air perfectly silent, it was also very still. It felt off.

In front of her sat three files. All of her patients, Leon's file was open in front of her. She slid it closer to her and poised the pen to write.

_Possible regression. _

The letters were slanted and crooked because she wrote them quickly, wanting to get it over with fast, like a band-aid.

She needed to get out of here.

As per-routine, she went to shrug off her white doctor's coat and put it on coat rack behind her.

She wasn't wearing it.

She walked straight across her office to the door. Never had she realized how align her desk and door were.

The doorknob was stuck. She tried pulling it out; often the locking mechanism would lock without that being the intention.

It didn't budge.

It wasn't just a want to leave anymore. She needed to get out.

She twisted the doorknob as hard as she could. The chords in her arm went taut. The skin eventually split, cracking in a thin sliver vertically. Blood dripped down on to the floor.

Flames ignited from the drops as if she had gasoline in her veins.

She wasn't really in her office at Arkham. She was dreaming.

_Wake up._

* * *

Her eyes stared across her bedroom floor. By some miracle Harleen had managed to make it home.

She was having nightmares every night now. Every morning they stayed with her a little bit longer, were growing more vivid and harder to shake away.

The night before was blurry, those short-term memories hidden behind a grimy showcase in her mind. That's not to say Harleen couldn't remember it though.

The club scene did not gradually pass away. It: the neon lights, the thumping bass, the people, they evaporated and all of a sudden Harley was facing large cargo ships on dark water.

All of a sudden she was back in Pacific Grove.

Harley had hit a time paradox where she was sixteen, twenty-three and twenty-six all at once.

A light on top of a buoy bobbed back and forth sporadically out in the open water.

_She sat on large rock looking out at the ocean, letting the soothing sounds of the surf calm her down. She left home with nothing but the clothes she had on because let's face it, she was only sixteen years old, she would eventually go back. She had threatened to leave so many times before even she knew she was going back…_

The ocean breeze, fresh and salty, wrenched at her heart.

_The breeze harassed her hair, pulling overgrown bangs in strands into her face. All the times she came here when she was mad at her mother made such little sense to her now. The times she promised to run away for good, she was so ungrateful and stupid. What she would give to go back to those days. She sunk to her knees, clutching at her own shoulders for lack of anything else. There was no going back this time. No place to go back to._

Here she was, so far from where she set out to get away from, to standing on that beach once more.

Harley shut her eyes as the hourglass of time tipped over.

_She wasn't a child anymore. Her mother couldn't tell her what to do…._

_She was unfeeling, completely numb. Nothing. Not the wind or the faint rain. Not the nails digging into her skin. Barry was dead. He was dead because of her._

He, a collection of shadows and urban myths, the Batman, stood near her when she opened her eyes.

His presence snapped time back in to place. It gave her something physical to direct her feelings to. The sight of him made anger the only thing she felt.

"Hello Mistah Tall and Dark."

He didn't respond. Funny he had a lot to say in the parking garage.

"Lemme guess you want to know where the Joker is?" she cut straight to the chase. "It seems as long as everyone thinks I know his whereabouts I'll never be lonely."

Harley wondered if he caught the _Casablanca _reference. Had he ever sat inside on a rainy day with a big bowl of popcorn and watched the classical film? Since she didn't have a face to match to the mental image, she pictured him as is; curled up in a general living room setting on a couch in the batsuit, using his cape much like a blanket, which caused a twitch of a smile and giggle.

A sudden movement from him jerked her out of silly thought and on to her ass. This was one guy she wasn't going to let to get any kind of close. The Batman made a small attempt at a grab, Harley shuffled backwards, the slight rug burn caused by the friction of the concrete against her bare legs was definitely a better price then what she would pay under his hands. Something's that happened before her time in Gotham were hard to understand, like the Joker, other things were not such a hard concept. How the Batman, unbound by the law, interrogated people was one of those things.

Harley picked herself off the ground, never taking her eyes off him.

"Tell me what you know," he said.

The stitches on her wrists burned hot.

That night had altered everything she had been saying. She had seen the Joker since his escape, looked into those dark eyes of his as she felt that same fresh burn.

No one was even willing to listen to what she said.

Underneath the wristbands, the stitches grew hotter.

She had maimed herself because of this entire city.

"Why should I?" Rose up with the venomous bile bubbling in her chest.

* * *

The hangover symptoms subsided eventually. Her anger, however, that stayed.

* * *

Harleen Quinzel's apartment.

Batman entered from the fire escape at the side of the building.

It was the standard layout. Dark. She wasn't home.

His well-trained eyes scoured every little nook he came across. He didn't expect to find anything here but he had to exhaust all possibilities, especially after the way Harleen had acted, like she was hiding something.

In the bedroom now, he pulled out the drawer to her nightstand. The first item he saw was a joker playing card. He pulled it out before rustling through the rest of the collection of small affects. There was a gymnastics medal, a letter from what had to be an old patient. He skimmed over it, the last line got to him.

_Lastly congrats on the new job in Gotham. There are a lot of people out there that need your help. Just don't forget the golden coast. _

_The golden coast, _he repeated in his head. California. Was that where Harleen was from?

When Bruce had taken her to dinner all those nights ago, she had said that was from Nevada. No, Harleen only said that she studied in Nevada, she switched the track of conversation back to the asylum when it got close to her personal life. Because Bruce was interested in Arkham, he didn't try to move it back.

Harleen was keeping more then what she knew about the Joker secret.

He shifted through more of the sentimentals in the drawer, a few photographs, a couple of her out with Joan Leland and some other woman. He even found the one of Bruce and Harleen on 34th avenue and the one he took of her and the Ferrari. He found another letter, this one was from the Joker.

_Dear Harley. _

_I am writing you from the office of Joan of Ark (ham), you have probably been here yourself so I won't bother describing it to you. I will admit that I was wrong. I said once that nothing would sound better then the music we listen to in your office. Nothing does not sound better; I'd rather, nay love to, hear Fleetwood Mac by this point. I've been scratching at my elbow to make sure I haven't gone deaf and now it's bleeding and it's my favorite elbow. That's your fault, Harley. If you hadn't gone off to Honolulu, I would be sitting or lying calmly in your office right now, not scratching myself bloody. _

_Now you notice this letter is on the back of a bubble sheet, (which I made in to a ladybug just for you, I know how much you like them, the red came off my elbow. My favorite elbow) she has put me to doing some head test and seems to think that I am actually doing it, she is apparently more delusional then you are. Since I have not deluded myself into think that Joan is not going to read this when I give it to her to pass along to you, Joan you have admit that not being suspicious of me was stupid. All the same it would be in your best interest to see Harley gets this letter. That is if your best interest includes not having cheap call girls show up at your house at 3 am, then the cops at 3:01 am. _

_Anyway since Joan refuses to tell me where you went, I am lead to the only rational conclusion:_

_A few days ago you were at that point in your menstrual cycle where all your woman hormones were dictating that you find a mate and pop out some kids. (I am basing this off the fact that roughly 5 weeks ago you were __incredibly cranky__) so all of sudden you that break room affair you've been having is no longer about blowing off steam (I feel that's partly my fault, I wasn't looking to put you on a table or counter or wherever you crazy kids are doing it these days, I was looking to get you into a cell next to mine) So you and HUGO STRANGE eloped in Hawaii. _

_I would advise you to keep your last name. Allow me to demonstrate as to why. _

_Harleen Strange: "I am sorry Mrs. Strange but there were complications during surgery and your husband didn't make it." _

_- I've made my feelings about how feel about your name being an old lady name clear, putting that aside, Harleen Strange basically says gold digger. _

_Harley Strange: "Would you like me to check the trap, Ms Strange" – Angelo the pool boy. _

_- You probably gave this a double read because you got the innuendo, and are saying "Joker, why the hell is he a pool boy" For the pool duh._

_With the double income, you and Hugo were able to get a fancy house with a pool and because Hugo is gone a lot and is old as balls, you've been sleeping with Angelo. Harley Strange is a very loose name. _

_Quinzel-Strange/Strange-Quinzel: No one is going to say that, it is two damn long._

_By the by, what is your middle name? _

The tell tale noise of the front door opening interrupted him in the middle of the letter. Batman didn't have time to finish it. On a last glance he thought he read

_I miss you._

But even if it wasn't spelled out right that didn't mean it wasn't there. Intuitive Harleen would have gotten the message even if he never said it. The Joker had made it clear in the first paragraph of his letter to her that he was unhappy that she was gone. That sort of display was abnormal for him.

It gave Batman a better idea of how close the two must have been. The Joker tricked her into believing that he could care about something, and it was beginning to look more and more like that something was her.

"You again" said Harley.

She staggered backward uncontrollably when she shut the door. She had been drinking again.

"The cops have just about given up on me. Why can't you?" She asked leaning up against the doorframe.

Harley was the opposite of the way she had been the night before. Her demeanor was intensely surly. Her stance was predatory, waiting for him to make the first move.

Batman flipped up the joker playing card. He needed to start squeezing Harleen.

"I'm not a cop." He reminded her.

He noticed greatly how her eyes flicked wide with surprise, even how her next breath had a hitch in it.

"You're right, " she said, "You're no cop."

There were two small beeps from the keypad of her cell in her right hand.

Batman tried the window in the bedroom. It only moved three inches.

"And J's not the only one with a price on his head." She said while hitting that final button.

Harley had moved out of sight. Batman doubted that she wasn't waiting for him. He had to go out into the hallway. They both knew that.

Batman rushed out of the room as fast as he could.

Glass shattered around his head. His cowl protected his head from the severity of the blow.

Harley lined herself up for another hit. Not fast or coordinated enough.

Batman grabbed her wrist. Harley yelped in pain, yet it didn't deter her fighting.

The hallway was too narrow for their sparring match.

Unintentionally Batman threw Harley into the wall. She hit hard, stars and sparks of pain flood her.

Black out.

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you all for reading, subscribing and faving.

SmilinForYa: Thank you and I'm glad you felt bad for poor wayward Harley. That is what I was going for, I am trying to make you all feel something so that feedback was much appreciated.

Sithlord8665: Harley only dies in this story, she never died in the DCU. Thank you for dropping me a line

One of the few liberties I took in this chapter is change where Harley was from, normally she is from Brooklyn, I made her from California. Gotham is on the east coast so Harley has come a long way from home

Some of this was a rehash of chapter 14, but I felt I needed to explain a little more why Harley was as hostile as she was to Batman for no reason.


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